


Learning Curve

by Callioope



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Anakin Skywalker Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Childhood Friends, College AU, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fix-It, Imperial era never happens, Lyra Erso Lives, M/M, Padme lives (though she doesn't actually show up in this), RebelCaptain May the Fourth Exchange, That's right, Yavin College, but it's set in-universe!!, especially the moms, even the moms, let the moms live
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-05-02 11:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14543466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callioope/pseuds/Callioope
Summary: When Jyn transfers to the newly founded Yavin College, she never expects to fall in love with the campus and its ancient ruins or to befriend the daughter of the most famous and accomplished couple in the galaxy, and she certainly doesn’t expect to run into her brother’s childhood best friend.Cassian has attended Yavin College since the beginning—which, technically, has only been two semesters, but that’s more than enough time to learn to lay low during new student orientation week. And yet somehow, he runs into his best friend’s sister anyways.They haven’t seen each other in five years, not since that joint family vacation on Jedha that definitely does not warrant mentioning. As they pursue their studies, literally living in and surrounded by history, can they learn to put their history behind them?(Written for the Rebelcaptain May 4 Exchange, for tumblr user careforbes)





	1. Yavin 4

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenvampirebarbie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenvampirebarbie/gifts).



> Happy May Fourth! This is my Exchange gift for tumblr user [careforbes](http://careforbes.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> The prompt: Jyn and Cassian semi grew up together because Cassian's best friends with her brother, Cassian has been away at college. Years later, Jyn changes to his University and Cassian sees that she's all grown up and falls hard. Long one shot please :)
> 
> _(Umm unfortunately, when I aim for "long one shot," it turns into... uh... a chapter fic. I am sorry! I will try to have this all posted by next weekend! I have the next chapter written, just needs to be beta'd.)_  
> 
> Speaking of betas, huge thank you to [Allatariel](https://allatariel.tumblr.com/) and [theputterer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theputterer/pseuds/theputterer) for talking through this with me and beta-ing!!! You both make me a better writer and I am so grateful for your insights :)
> 
> Just some background: Anakin never went to the Dark Side; instead, he helped arrest Palpatine and ultimately prevented the rise of the Empire. The rest is alluded to within the story. (All in all, a much happier galaxy all around -- that's all you need to know!)

Inevitably, Jyn thinks of her mother as she steps off the ship.

It’d be impossible not to, the way the main ziggurat of Yavin College rises before her, still covered in jungle grime, looking more like what it had been—ruins reclaimed by the planet—rather than what it was meant to be—a satellite campus of Alderaan University.

She suspects the exterior look is part of the charm, a gimmick intended to attract buzz for the newly founded campus. “Live in History,” the holobrochure would read. “Pursue Knowledge in Ancient Massassi Temple!”

It’d been enough to snag Mama’s attention, of course. Lyra Erso had _lovingly encouraged_ Jyn to join Yavin College's semester exchange inter-university partnership program since she’d first heard about it two years ago. Director Organa had presented his pet project at the first-year orientation Jyn had attended when she’d started at Rudrig University, technically before the program was even ready to accept its first students.

And after many entreaties—lectures over dinner about the benefits of immersive learning, lengthy essays spamming her inbox about the qualifications of the highly accomplished faculty Organa had recruited, even reminders that her attendance would contribute significant funding to facilitate the new college’s primary mission: providing affordable education to less fortunate citizens of the Outer Rim—Jyn had finally agreed.

She steps away from the shuttle, out of the path of the students disembarking behind her, and pulls out her cam. For Mama, she pans across the temple, the jungle— _everything_. Including the students lingering on the tarmac, students who, like her, have taken a chance on a fledgling school pretty much in the middle of nowhere.

Some of them frown at the temple, like they’re not sure they’re in the right place. Some continue through to the hangar entrance, oblivious, wrapped up in conversation. But most pause to gaze up in awe.

“Pretty impressive, isn’t it?”

Lowering her cam, Jyn turns and looks _down_ at the woman who spoke. (Finding someone shorter than her—that’s rare.)

She recognizes her immediately.

Leia Amidala Skywalker.

Daughter of the most famous couple in the galaxy.

And recently declared heir to the throne of Alderaan.

That controversial decision currently ranks as the HoloNet’s obsession of the week. If Jyn accessed the ‘Net _right now_ , undoubtedly she’d find a vast assortment of opinions and judgments masquerading as news, anything from headlines: “Skywalker Family Continues Power Grab: The Reach for Alderaan” to talking heads: “Just because Organa was named Leia’s Hold-Father nineteen years ago doesn’t give her the right to the throne…”

So—maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising the newly crowned princess would seek out the farthest corner of the universe.

But does that mean she’s a student here?

What the kriff is she supposed to call her?

“It’s Leia,” she says, offering her hand and an amused smirk.

Jyn takes it, idly wondering if mind-reading is a Force power or if her expression had betrayed her. “I’m Jyn,” she says. “Are you … a student here?”

“Allegedly.” She cocks her head to the side. “You’re not going to be weird, are you?”

(Definitely hiding out.)

“I came for the classes, not the celebrities.”

Leia grins and points to Jyn’s cam. “The classes? Not the architecture?”

“Actually, it was the promise of heat and humidity.”

Leia laughs. “Sure, let's get inside, I'll show you around.”

Her celebrity tour guide moves forward before she’s even done talking, waving for Jyn to follow. With one last look up at the temple—she’ll have time, she thinks, to capture everything—she does, as much bewildered as intrigued.

“Um—alright if I keep filming?” she asks, raising her cam. Leia arches one eyebrow. “It’s for my mother,” Jyn says, shrugging. “She’s keen on this sort of thing. Wants to live vicariously through me, I guess.” She pauses. “Although I’m not entirely sure she hasn’t stowed away in my luggage.”

Leia stares at her for a moment, scrutinizing, and instead of answering she asks, “What are you studying here?”

“Journalism.” It’s not a good answer, considering Leia’s prominent status and her previous question, but it’s the truth and Jyn won’t shy away from it.

“And your mother,” Leia says, as they pass into the shadow of the hangar. The air is only marginally cooler here, but Jyn keeps her eyes on the turbolift across the way. “What does she do?”

“She’s a geologist.” Inevitably, her hand goes to the crystal hanging around her neck. Her mother had given it to her when she’d left for university. “She works in my father’s lab.”

Leia follows the movement with a quick glance, before waving at a passerby. “You’re Galen Erso’s daughter,” she says, so conversationally, so nonchalant, in the same breath as her “hello”s and “how are you”s to the acquaintances they pass.

They enter the lift before Jyn can respond.

“Simple powers of observation,” Leia says, “not a Force trick. It’s not every day a person sees a kyber crystal, even when your father is Anakin Skywalker. And you’re wearing one like jewelry. Besides, I heard you were coming.”

“You heard _I_ was—”

“I’m not the only one whose fame has preceded them,” Leia says. She’s grinning. “Professor Gerrera speaks very highly of you.”

This stuns Jyn into a moment of silence. “I haven’t seen Saw since I was sixteen.” (There are a few people she hasn’t seen since…)

“Since your last family trip to Jedha, if I recall,” Leia says. “Oh yes, I’ve heard. He’s chaperoning the Galactic Scholars trip to Jedha this semester, so it came up.”

A family trip. That’s mostly correct. Others had joined them who weren’t _technically_ related—neighbors—but ever since Mama and Papa had adopted Bodhi she’d known blood relation wasn’t a prerequisite for family.

But can you still consider someone family if you don’t see them or hear from them for five or six years?

Jyn fiddles with her cam, and Leia interprets it as a repeat of her initial question.

“Sure, go ahead,” Leia says.

She waits for the doors of the lift to open, to reveal the maze of stone corridors. Leia shows her through classrooms and offices, through lounge areas, a cafeteria, even a small pub. Through it all, the renovations have been careful—where they could, developers left traces of ancient etchings; moss still clings to stone, cultivated decoratively; cables snake along corners, aesthetically mimicking vines.

She learns much about Leia, who doesn’t babble, but knows how to keep a conversation going. As it happens, she’s chancellor of the Student Government Association, an orientation leader (which explains what she’d been doing greeting new students in the hangar), an RA, and part of the Galactic Scholars program. Jyn, who’d signed up for the program, also at her mother's recommendation, was already looking forward to the perks—the guest lectures, the extended educational trips across the galaxy, and of course, the special housing—but now she’ll at least have someone to share them with.

“So I’ll see you at the next lecture,” Leia says, pausing as they reach the residence hall.

“Thanks for the tour,” Jyn says. “Where are you off to now?”

“Meeting with Chancellor Mothma,” she says.

“Touring new students, meeting with the chancellor of the university,” Jyn says. “Is there anything around here you don't do?”

“Sleep,” Leia says. “See you around, Jyn.”

#

Cassian has attended Yavin College since the beginning—which, technically, has only been two semesters, but that’s more than enough time to learn to lay low during new student orientation week.

Careful reconnaissance has also revealed the best place to do so: the library. While the cafeteria, student lounges, and classroom corridors swarm with new students, Cassian holes up in the stacks, finding his own nook in a back corner. Sure, it’s nothing like the maze of stacks purportedly found in the Jedi Archives on Coruscant, but several shelves of holobooks are enough of a barrier for now, while students spend their time acquainting themselves with campus, before coursework compels them to a more studious use of their time.

(And when that happens, he’s got a section of the temple roof staked out with a clear view of the surrounding jungle and a guarantee of unlimited, uninterrupted study time.)

Besides, Draven has already assigned a mountain of reading, so he might as well get a head start.

He couldn’t even say he doesn’t enjoy it. (Though he is a little peeved that a particular text he’d been looking forward to reading has been checked out already, but there’ll be time to read it later, he supposes.)

This is where K-2SO finds him three days into the first week, and, as K-2 has informed him, only thirty minutes away from the end of dinner.

“Data suggests that humans require nutritional sustenance for continued function.”

“I hear you, Kay,” Cassian says, shutting off his datapad and stuffing it into his bag. For all his grumbling, a trace of a smile claims a small corner of Cassian’s usual neutral expression. K-2 is only looking after him; and he can appreciate the droid’s sarcasm.

He is, after all, the cause of it.

His father had purchased—or had been advised to purchase—a security droid upon his election to the Senate. After consulting his son, ever an avid droid enthusiast even since the Clone Wars, he’d chosen a KX-series security droid from Arakyd Industries.

But, well, Mama hadn’t been too much of a fan. Cassian had only wanted the best for his father (and also, KX-series droids looked _really cool_ —after all, he’d been, what? Ten? Twelve?), but the droid towered over the family in a way Mama could not stand (in a way that reminded Mama too much of the war). So, with some desperate persuading, Cassian had convinced them to allow him an attempt at reprogramming the droid with a more friendly demeanor. It wouldn't change the droid’s height, but it might make him less intimidating.

Evidently what Cassian looked for in a friend was different from conventional expectations.

(Alright, maybe the by-products of the reprogramming had not been entirely predictable to a twelve-year-old, but Cassian wouldn’t change anything.)

The Andors had grown to love their personal bodyguard. Eventually. And when his father had opted not to run for re-election, they kept him.

K-2 had followed him to Yavin, had been signed on as part of the College’s security. It helped that Cassian had a few connections, after having served on a preliminary student committee to gauge the interests and needs of prospective Outer Rim students. That’d been Director Organa’s main objective: to establish a university that could provide accessible education for those less privileged.

“With my increasing responsibilities around here,” K-2 continues, leading Cassian through the library exit, “it may benefit you to make additional acquaintances. I will not be around to shepherd you to every meal.”

“What increasing responsibilities?” Cassian asks, sidestepping both Kay’s jab at Cassian’s personal life as well as a cleaning droid that scurries past them as they turn down the corridor.

“Enrollment has increased this semester by thirty percent,” K-2 says, “but they have not expanded the security staff.” Before Cassian can comment on that, K-2 continues, “Additionally, it appears someone has trespassed on the roof and damaged security installations in the process.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“I am aware of both your habits and your capabilities,” K-2 says. “You have not visited your preferred outpost yet this term, nor do you lack the resourcefulness required to get past security without damaging it.”

K-2 pauses, and they turn down a corridor that brings them into the main part of campus, back into the throng of people.

“Ongoing investigations suggest it is one of the new students.”

Cassian sighs. “I suppose this means tighter security up there.”

“Yes.”

“You said ongoing investigation?” Cassian asks.

“The offender has trespassed at least twice and evaded discovery.” K-2 taps the panel to the right of the cafeteria door and it slides open. “Much as you have evaded acknowledging my initial suggestion.”

Nothing _should_ get past a security droid, after all. “I’m a TA for half the population here,” Cassian says. (Thirty percent increase didn’t really account for much at a new college with a low enrollment rate.) “I can’t show any kind of favoritism.”

“It’s not as if you’re responsible for their final marks,” K-2 says.

Cassian reaches for a tray and slides it along the metal rack in front of the buffet. “Leia’s a friend,” he deflects. Such a claim may be generous at best; he couldn’t say they were definitely close, but they both respected and liked each other well enough that after Kay, and maybe Professor Draven, Leia was the next closest person he felt comfortable around.

“The princess is even busier than I am, and should not be held accountable for your wellbeing.”

“I don’t think that’s really the role of a friend, anyways,” Cassian mutters. But of course, K-2’s auditory sensors pick it up.

“Define friendship,” K-2 recites, and then his vocabulator plays a recording in Cassian’s thirteen-year-old voice. “I don’t know, someone who—shares the same interests as you and likes you and cares what happens to you, I guess. Bodhi Rook is a—”

The recording cuts off, but Cassian remembers the conversation. _Bodhi Rook is a friend_ , he had said. K-2 had found Bodhi sneaking into Cassian’s bedroom on Coruscant late at night and thought him an intruder, and Cassian had to explain. In the end, K-2 had not even told his parents about the incident—because, he’d said, a friend cares what happens to you, and K-2 had not wanted to see Cassian reprimanded.

Bodhi Rook _was_ a good friend, had been his best friend, besides K-2, for the last five years he’d lived on Coruscant. They’d tried to keep in touch, since they’d both left for school—Cassian to Alderaan University to study law and politics, Bodhi to Sebs Jemas Flight School on Lorrd to become a pilot—but life just got in the way.

Oddly enough, Cassian learns more these days about Bodhi through Leia than through direct communication. Apparently, Bodhi’s piloting skills had caught the attention of Leia’s brother. The galaxy, it seems, is smaller than maps indicate, but somehow not quite small enough to bring them back within each other’s orbit.

“I should reach out to Bodhi,” Cassian says, scooping the cooling remnants of whatever had constituted today’s noodle dish onto his plate. This close to the end of dinner, the buffet offers very little.

“Bodhi Rook is currently halfway across the galaxy,” K-2 reminds him. “And would not be able to tell you that you should add a serving of vegetables to your tray.”

Cassian sends K-2 a look before ultimately complying.

“If you are not convinced by the material benefits associated with friendship,” K-2 continues, “perhaps it would interest you to know that companionship boosts happiness, reduces stress levels, and over time, can even improve health and longevity.”

Cassian chooses to ignore this lesson in psychology and turns to the dessert table.

And then he pauses.

His favorite fruit—ghibli, very rare, as its particular flavor is considered _an acquired taste_ —has yet again run out. The College hardly stocks many to begin with, and had only begun stocking them a semester after his initial request, so he’d been pretty sure he was one of the few who ever ate them. How is it possible they’d run out three times in a row in the first week?

“Perhaps you should figure out who keeps depleting the supply,” K-2 suggests. “As it seems you _share an interest_.”

At last, Cassian lets out a very heavy, long-contained sigh.

#

Jyn’s first day—immediately hitting it off with a fellow student, and a famous one at that—does not serve as an adequate predictor for the rest of her week. (Nor, likely, the rest of her semester.)

Though Leia is easy enough to spot in the halls, with her flowing white gowns, and though she greets Jyn warmly, she lacks the spare time to linger.

Jyn doesn’t blame her, of course. It just seems precisely like the bit of luck she’d have, to finally come across someone who _might_ understand her, only for that person to be unavailable.

It’s not exactly unfamiliar terrain. (She can’t complain, her family loves her, but—well they’re all always busy, aren’t they? Papa and Mama with work, Bodhi with flight school and then of course the job his studies had earned. Everyone she’s ever connected with has pursued their dreams elsewhere, leaving her behind in some way or another. She’s happy for them, supportive of them, and also well-acquainted with solitude.)

But the campus itself _is_ unfamiliar terrain, which she explores with the enthusiasm of an archaeologist first discovering the temple.

She discovers the library, several shelves of holobooks, which may lack the breadth of knowledge found in the Jedi Temple of Coruscant (her mother had once taken her there on a tour, long ago, as part of Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker’s initiative to improve transparency and Jedi public relations), but it seems to possess an intriguing depth of knowledge nonetheless. She checks out several texts required for her studies, and even several that are not, including one from Professor Draven’s suggested reading list, which she begrudgingly agrees sounds interesting.

She discovers a nook on the temple roof, one that looks out across the jungle and the surrounding temples, where she’s high enough up that she can’t hear the voices of students mingling in the courtyards below. The height also comes with a pleasant breeze that strips away any lingering humidity. She had, unfortunately, had to break a lock to get up here the first time, but years of practice during her misspent youth have equipped her with more than enough skill to slip away untroubled by security. She decides to claim this as a future study location.

She even discovers, to her delighted surprise, that the cafeteria stocks ghibli. She wouldn’t call it her favorite—it’s certainly an acquired taste—but it reminds her of home: of Papa or Mama returning from another long work trip, a bag in tow; of afternoons in her parents’ den, slouched on the sofa, kicking ass at Rancor Wrestle II or getting left in the dust in Galactic Run, snacking as the sun sets; of a particular argument regarding the Senate and the Outer Rim when she’d ended up _throwing_ one of them at her opposition; of the long hike from Jedha City to the catacombs, the sweet juice trickling down her chin. (Really, it seems a little unfair for those memories to corner her twice in one week.)

Well, her father, king of the kitchen, had always kept it stocked full of them; and out of nostalgia’s sake, Jyn just might nick several of them and toss them in her bag. She would have to be prepared, after all, for Mama’s inevitable and spontaneous visit. Besides—no one else here is going to eat them. She already saw another student try it and spit it out (the waste of it appalls her, and thus she justifies her rescue of the fruit to a more appreciative consumer).

These activities keep her occupied enough to avoid dwelling on the fact that she doesn’t seem to have anything in common with her peers, that conversation doesn’t come naturally, is forced and stilted at best and generally disastrous at worst. (Her brand of humor has always received rather mixed reviews.)

But it’s fine.

She’s acclimating.

Her classes keep her busy. Not so much due to the actual first week assignments, which are minimal, but more to do with Jyn’s determination to excel. It’s too late to shift her journalism degree to history, but for pre-law studies, journalism will serve her fine. She just needs to strive for top marks.

And if anyone’s going to challenge her there, it will be Professor Draven. Dry, stern, seems to already have it out for her, for some reason, having already called her out in class— _he’s a hardass, that’s what he is_ , Jyn thinks—Draven unfortunately teaches two of the required courses for Jyn’s major: _Communications: Culture and the Media in the Outer Rim_ , and _The Psychology of the Everyday Persuasion_. She’s determined to prove him wrong, and that’s why she’s checked out all the texts on his suggested reading list.

(Saw will assuredly be just as challenging, but his class hasn’t met yet. She hasn’t even see him in the halls. Whatever Leia said about the man’s own nostalgia, she had yet to witness it.)

Five days after her arrival, with no classes for the rest of the afternoon, she plans a reading retreat in her newfound private patio. On her way out of the cafetera, she snags an extra ghibli, slips down a maintenance corridor, and navigates her way to the top.

It’s possible, from sheer boredom, that she spent a good many hours exploring places on Coruscant she probably shouldn’t have. While she may now regret some of her more problematic teen years, it’s those finely honed skills that get her past the increased security. Others might consider messing with security feeds or faking her own maintenance pass as excessive activities just to find some privacy, but, well. They wouldn’t have seen this view. (Or had to deal with her roommate’s snoring. Even during the day time. And they definitely would require more than the half hour it's taken her to forge.)

She’s already pulled out that book from Draven’s suggested reading list by the time she steps across the outer stonework. But when she settles down into the shade and catches just a glimpse of the clear sky and the jungle trees—well, she _has_ to.

She pulls out her cam. Mama would want to see this.

Anyone should want to see this. She sets the text down, places her half-eaten ghibli on top of it, and stands up to pan across the jungle forest.

The other temple peaks gleam in the sun, some kind of bird swoops between them, a monkey hoots.

 _Wild_ , she thinks, and just as she’s wondering if there are any kind of expeditions or excursions into the surrounding jungle, she hears a scratch on the stone to her left.

From the way she came.

Reflexively, she swings the cam over to the sound of the noise, and through the lens she sees—

The very surprised face of Cassian Andor.

#

He watches Jyn Erso slowly lower her handheld cam—a relic these days—and he finds it so categorically Jyn (a product of her mother’s raising) that she’d use such a device that it completely derails all thoughts of, well, everything.

A less distracted version of himself might, for example, notice that it’s _strange_ that his best friend’s little sister, whom he has not seen or heard from in five years, has both discovered and commandeered his favorite getaway spot. He might realize that she must be the culprit K-2’s been looking for over the last week. He might even feel the wide grin spreading across a face more used to neutral detachment.

All of that escapes him.

Instead, his foolish brain only has the capacity to marvel over the familiarity of the sight of Jyn holding a cam, like she’s just stepped out of yesterday, and how is it possible that five years can last so long and feel like nothing?

He can still remember the last time he’d seen her, how the light hit her eyes in the setting Jedhan sun—how he’d suddenly—

“Jyn,” he says, because they’ve stared at one another for longer than is probably reasonable without speaking. He wonders how many seconds tick on her cam, if she hasn’t paused it already.

“Cassian,” she finally says. He hears the beep of her cam, and now that it’s paused, the world around him resumes play.

“It’s been—”

“A while, yeah.”

They both step forward, quick and then hesitating, to embrace.

When they pull apart, they both start: “So are you a—oh …” until Cassian gestures towards her.

“Yeah, I’m just here for the semester. It’s an exchange program thing.” She shrugs. “Mama convinced me.”

“Of course.” Maybe the galaxy _is_ smaller than he thought.

That Jedhan sun knows nothing of her features now, he realizes. The wind gently lifts her bangs so they float around her face. She looks away, up towards the vast orange disc of Yavin hanging in the sky.

“Have a seat,” she says, gesturing towards the stonework and sitting herself.

And that’s when all the details hit him: that they are on the roof of the temple, that a half-eaten ghibli sits atop the very text he’d wanted from the library. Everything clicks into place: the rooftop break in, the checked-out text, the depleted ghibli supply. Mystery solved. Culprit: Jyn Erso.

Before he can even call her out, she pulls another one out of her bag and offers it. “Ghibli?”

Smirking, he takes it. “So you’re the one who’s been hoarding them.”

“Most people don’t like them,” she says, more haughtily than he’d have expected. “I didn’t exactly expect…”

“Sure.” He takes a bite and savors the sweet flavor. “How’s Bodhi?”

“Doing well,” she says. “Just got promoted to captain. Gets to see all these amazing places. Loves to send us holos.” She rolls her eyes, but smiles.

“Sounds like Bodhi,” he says.

“Actually, he just started seeing someone.”

“Good for him,” he says. “Have you met him?”

“No,” she snorts. “Won’t even tell us his name.”

“That _doesn’t_ sound like Bodhi,” he says.

“Tell me about it.” She sighs and takes another bite of her fruit, still stares out across the jungle.

“It could be Luke,” he muses out loud, partially to see if Jyn recognizes the name.

She glances back at him and cocks her head to the side. “So you have kept in touch?”

“Oh.” He picks at the blue skin of the fruit, feels her eyes piercing through him. “Uh—not really. More indirectly. My friend’s brother is a pilot, too. Sort of.” (Gosh, he’s rambling like Bodhi now.) “He knows Bodhi, so sometimes I hear about him through her.”

When he looks back at her, her smile is gone completely, replaced by a small frown that he recognizes as much as the cam, an expression she’d wear when trying to figure something out. She says nothing though, just takes another bite of her ghibli and stares out at the jungle.

Should he say something? Should he apologize? There shouldn’t really be a need to, right? After so many years, she’d probably—

“So what are you studying?” she asks.

“Intergalactic law,” he says. “You?”

“Journalism, for now. But I want to go into law when I graduate.”

He nods and gestures towards the text sitting between them. “So you’re taking Draven?”

“Yeah, you know him?”

“He’s my advisor.”

She groans. “Good luck with that.”

“He’s good, you’ll learn a lot.”

“I have no doubt about that, with all the reading he’s assigned,” she says. She watches him out of the side of her eye. “How long have you been here?”

“Since it opened,” he says. “This is my third semester.”

“Do you ever run into Saw?”

He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, turns back to stare out at the jungle. “No, he sort of keeps to himself, usually. And I’m not taking any of his classes.”

The real truth is that Saw Gerrera is not entirely fond of him, and Jyn should probably remember that, but he’s not really sure the reasons are worth bringing up yet.

She pops the last piece of fruit into her mouth and settles back into the stonework like she’s settling back into the couch in her parents’ den. “So, what have you been up to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ghibli fruit is a type of fruit from Legends, but I made up how it looked and tasted. 
> 
> Sebs Jemas Flight School was a pilot academy on Lorrd, a planet in Legends, that "was known as a great repository of academic knowledge." Raised by Lyra and Galen, I thought this would appeal to Bodhi!


	2. Jedha

“He’s just been acting strange.”

Jyn doesn’t look at Leia as she says this, instead intent on pushing her eggs around her tray. Their first Galactic Scholars weekend trip departs in twenty minutes, and she’s not halfway through her breakfast yet.

Across the table, Leia leans back in her seat and savors a sip of caf. Compared to her usual routine, this morning has seemed leisurely, and still Leia’s tray has been empty for ten minutes.

“Cassian’s always aloof,” she says. “You’re overthinking this.”

Jyn presses her lips together and looks out across the cafeteria. She’s not looking for him, she isn’t; as a chaperone for the trip, he’ll most likely be in the hangar getting ready.

“I thought you said you hit it off when you ran into him,” Leia prompts.

That first afternoon, when he’d caught her on the roof, they’d talked so long night had settled around them without their noticing.

The words had come so easy—like they had before Cassian and Bodhi had left for school, before Papa’s most recent breakthrough had landed them back in the public eye, before all the bad decisions she’d made, before the late nights out and the drop in her grades and the hours spent in detention, even for those fights she _hadn’t_ started. Before her idle hobby forging IDs for her friends attracted the less-preferred type of client. Before her father had had to resort to calling up some old school friend of his, someone who had some kind of ranking position in the government, to, uh, clear the less savory parts of her record.

All of that was behind her.

Even if she wasn’t that person anymore, even if she hadn’t been for years, Cassian had known her before all of that, and that meant something.

She couldn’t tell how much he knew about what had transpired, but he hadn’t indicated any awareness of it. She certainly felt no need to elucidate him on the particulars, didn’t feel guilty skimming over the low points in her life.

(He’d probably blame himself for them.)

Besides, their casual ease with one another had returned so naturally. She’d glimpsed the possibility that this campus could feel like home—and she couldn’t ruin that.

But maybe she had, somehow, anyways.

“Jyn?”

She looks back at Leia. “Sorry—we _did_ hit it off. At first.”

“And then?”

She shrugs and shakes her head. “He just got weird.”

“So you’ve said. Got any evidence?”

Jyn sighs. “Nothing—not one _specific_ thing. He just…”

Leia arches an eyebrow.

“He’s my TA in Draven’s psych course, yeah?” Leia nods. “Second class, Draven divided us into groups and gave us five minutes to read through an article and prepare talking points. And he elected _me_ as group leader—”

“Yeah, I’ve heard he keeps you on your toes.”

“Right.” Jyn rolls her eyes. “I didn’t think I said anything off. Draven didn’t even—he actually seemed sort of impressed. Surprised, but impressed.”

“And that’s when Cassian got weird?”

“Gradually, after that.” She finally takes a bite of her eggs, but they’re cold and rubbery. “It’s been worse each time class meets. I don’t know. We used to argue all the time when we were younger. Our politics just don’t mesh.”

“So you think he’s mad at you about your… politics?”

Jyn shrugs again and looks down at her chrono. “Oh— _kriff_. We need to go.”

Before Leia can respond (can call her bluff), she grabs her tray and heads towards the nearest exit, pausing only to scoop the eggs in the garbage. When Leia catches up, neither make any move to continue the conversation, at least, not until—

Leia elbows her. “Look, there he is.”

At the front of the queue, Cassian holds a datapad in one hand, waves students through onto the transport with the other, all the while looking like he’ll keel over any second from exhaustion. The bags under his eyes suggest late nights reading; he had mentioned his heavy coursework, hadn’t he? And she’s familiar enough, six weeks into the semester, with the burden of Draven’s assignments. She can only imagine what he’s putting his grad students through.

Leia’s probably right. She’s overthinking things. She just hasn’t seen him in a week because he’s been studying.

And not at all because of—Jedha.

“Ask him if he wants to hang out with us on Jedha,” Leia says.

(Because of course, that’s where the Scholars program is taking them.)

(And that’s the _real_ reason, she’s sure, that Cassian’s avoiding her.)

“You know,” Jyn says, “I’ve already been to Jedha. Multiple times. I should probably just—”

“You’ll lose your deposit,” Leia reminds her.

Right. The fifty-credit deposit that students only get returned when they actually go on the trip.

She could probably afford—

Leia stares at her, a grand mixture of disbelief and disappointment all suggesting _I thought so much better of you_ , that Jyn has to admit—she’s not this kind of coward.

“You’re going to ask him to join us,” Leia says, “and then you’re going to tell me what the hell happened between you two on Jedha.”

Jyn hesitates, and since she feels fully confident in her ability to say _no_ , she knows Leia isn’t using that Jedi Mind Trick on her.

“It’s going to be a long flight,” Leia says.

They reach the front of the queue before Jyn can respond.

“Oh. Hey, Jyn.”

“Hey, Cass.” She tries for a smile and hopes it’s not as feeble as the one he wears, that doesn’t quite reach his tired eyes. Are all those lines around his eyes just from exhaustion, or…?

Leia clears her throat.

“Hi, Lei—” Cassian starts.

“So, uh,” Jyn says, with all her usual charm, starting at the same time and talking right over him. “Are you free when we land? Leia and I were thinking of visiting that tea shop—”

All sorts of expletives chorus through her brain at the mention of the tea shop. Why did she need to mention that?

“Chaperone duties,” he says, shrugging apologetically. If she didn’t spot the whiteness of his knuckles as he clutches his datapad, she might believe he’d forgotten, that his excuse was sincere.

“Of course.” Jyn looks up the ramp into the transport.

“But, I, uh, should be free for dinner,” he says. “The grill by the temple?”

Before she can say anything, Leia cuts in, “Sounds like a plan,” and practically shoves Jyn up the ramp.

Neither of them say a word until they settle into two seats at the back.

“Now,” Leia says. “Tell me about this family vacation to Jedha.”

#

Cassian has a problem.

It started with the second session of Draven’s PSYC3318 class.

Draven experiments, gives the class five minutes to read a short article and then talk about it, and flummoxes several groups. Most of the analyses presented are mediocre at best. And then Jyn stands up, and opens her mouth, and—he has a problem.

Sensing she can handle it, Draven prods at her presentation more than the others. She counters each point with eloquence and confidence, until her responses have parried all his arguments, and he nods and mutters some word of praise that Cassian doesn’t even hear.

Yes, alright, he knows Jyn is the daughter of two of the galaxy’s smartest scholars. And sure, she’d always done well in school as long as he’d known her (except for whatever happened during her later teen years—the problem was that Jyn was too smart for her own good).

But she’d never out-argued him. He had the advantage of three years on her, besides which, he’d always been the top of his class. It’d made enough of a difference back then that she had, several times, ended arguments by throwing ghibli at his face. (He’d even had to flush his right eye for fifteen minutes once.)

And now she’d just debated Draven, in front of the class, with only five minutes of preparation.

“We have a problem,” K-2 says, joining him just as Jyn and Leia board the transport to Jedha.

(To _Jedha_.

And Jyn wants to spend time with him. On _Jedha_.

She probably doesn’t remember what happened there, the last time they saw each other, but considering that every time she answers a question in class, talks circles around her peers, matches Draven word for word—every time she sneaks past K-2’s newest security implementation of the week, every time she wins a sparring match at the gym, every time she gasps and pulls out her cam and mutters, “Sorry, I just have to get this for Mama,” and pans and zooms and captures the world around her like she’s filming a documentary, like there’s something to learn from any and every tree or creature or ancient innovation—

In short, considering that every time she _does anything_ , he catches himself awed, enamored, intoxicated, he’s not really sure that he can survive a trip to Jedha. Not after what happened the last time they saw each other there.

Because he can’t actually _do_ anything about it.

It wouldn’t be fair to put her in that position.

To retread the same mistakes.)

“Yes, we do,” Cassian murmurs.

Though K-2 undoubtedly hears it, his friend continues with his own dilemma. “Security has still failed to apprehend the roof intruder.”

“Nothing on the holofeeds?” Cassian asks.

“The culprit has sliced our feeds.”

“What about the guards you posted?”

“Apparently, they all received urgent orders to report to the gym on the far side of campus to treat a Leviathan grub infestation.”

“Aren’t those—”

“Far too large to cause an infestation, yes.”

“Who sent those orders?”

“Me, supposedly.”

Cassian covers his mouth to make it look like he’s thinking, instead of stifling a laugh. “So what do you want me to do about it?”

“Several things,” K-2 says. “Help secure the network. Run diagnostics on the diverted droids. Attempt to identify the actual sender. And, as I keep requesting, confirm that you have not seen anyone there.”

“You know I don’t work for security,” Cassian says, checking his chrono. He’s got maybe five minutes of time to wait for any stragglers. “I can’t program anything for you without being on the payroll. You’ll have to go to your superiors—“

“My superiors lack the required skills.”

“Then I won’t be able to help you either.”

“That is false.”

Cassian sighs and searches the hangar for any sign of their esteemed head chaperone.

“Kay,” he tries, “How is it logical to allow me on the roof and not anyone else?”

“You will not cause any harm,” K-2 responds.

“Has this intruder caused any harm?”

“As you know, they broke one of the doors providing roof access on the first day of the semester.”

“And that’s fixed. Anything since then?”

K-2’s eyes flash. “Unless you have suffered a blow to head I have not been informed of, you will recall the culprit committed an act of vandalism that has proven considerably difficult to remove. If you know who the intruder is, it is not in your interests to protect them.”

If Cassian had any control over this trip, he’d head up the ramp now. But there’s still time, and besides, the professor running the trip still isn’t anywhere in sight.

“Then who will help you get the paint off the back of your chassis?” he mutters.

“Vandalism,” K-2 continues, so haughtily Cassian can’t help but note how ridiculously stupid a person would have to be to consider droids nothing more than personality-less slaves, “is a violation of the student by-laws.”

“Vanity doesn’t suit you, Kay,” Cassian says, but it’s very hard to keep a straight face. Current conundrum aside, Cassian wishes Jyn could hear this.

But then again it’d probably just egg her on.

“Cassian. This is a very serious security threat.”

“She’s not a threat,” he says, waving his hand dismissively and stepping forward to peer further into the hangar. Where is this professor?

K-2 suddenly stands a little straighter and Cassian realizes his mistake. “She?”

“It was just a—“

“I suspected you had seen them. The odds of you crossing paths up there were too high. Why are you protecting ‘ _her_ ’?”

Cassian sighs. “You wanted me to make a friend.”

“I cannot support your continued bonding with this criminal,” K-2 says. “While we’re on the subject, and since you refuse to be at all useful, I must also log a recommendation regarding your study habits. Your productivity decreases by thirty-seven percent and your stress levels increase by twenty-two percent when you are in the presence of Jyn Erso.”

“Kay, I’ve asked you not to—”

A raspy voice interjects behind him. “What’s this about Jyn?”

_Now_ , Cassian thinks, _Now my stress levels are spiking_. But he keeps his face neutral.

“Hello, Professor Gerrera,” Cassian says. Thank the Force, K-2 remains quiet. “Kay-Tu was just suggesting some presents. For Jyn’s birthday.”

Gerrera glares between Cassian and K-2 for a moment.

“Kay,” Cassian says, “go let the pilot know that we’re ready for takeoff.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kay turns and starts up the ramp, pausing only slightly at the sudden bark of Gerrera’s laugh.

Though the graffiti scrawled across K-2’s back has faded somewhat (thanks to experimentation with several types of paint remover), the letters still stand out: K-2SLO.

“Do you know who did this?” Gerrera asks.

Cassian wagers there’s a two-to-one chance Gerrera recognizes Jyn’s handiwork. Unwilling to risk another lie, he nods.

“And have you told anyone?”

“Negative, sir.”

Saw grins and claps Cassian on the arm. “New boxing gloves,” he says, passing Cassian and heading up the ramp.

It takes Cassian a second to catch up. _Right_ , he thinks. _The birthday present._

“Thank you, sir.”

“Let’s get going.”

#

“I don’t know, Jyn,” Leia says, examining an array of scarves on display.

Jedha is everything like Jyn remembers—cold, but streets swarming with so many it still feels cozy, the crowd a steady flow behind them, a mix of pilgrims and tourists and shoppers. The ever-present smell of fresh bread and grilled meat wafts through the air, the vendors reliably always in sight or, at the furthest, just around the corner.

She picks up a scarf the same blue as Cassian’s ridiculous puffy jacket (like he’d need it, it’s not _that_ cold…)

“I think it might just be you.”

“What?” She drops the scarf and it flows like water back onto the table.

“You’re the one making things weird.”

Jyn stares dumbfounded at her supposed friend, who’s too busy tracing the silver pattern on a white scarf to appreciate Jyn’s betrayed frown. “Did you not see what happened?”

“I saw enough.”

“Did you see his _face_?”

“He just looked tired.”

“The…” Jyn waves her hand vaguely towards her own. “His clenched jaw? How he nearly broke his datapad, holding it so tight? He—how could you not feel it in the Force?”

Leia laughs. “Cassian’s pretty guarded. I don’t get a good read on him. You, on the other hand…”

Jyn rolls her eyes in anticipation of what Leia’s about to say and turns back to refold the scarf. “I’m very bright, so I’ve heard.”

“Like a beacon.”

“But not Force sensitive.” Jyn sets down the scarf and looks off into the distance, towards the temple.

“Do you ever wish you were?”

“Do you ever wish you weren’t?” She glances back to find Leia grinning. “Never seemed to be a point in wishing for things to be different.”

They turn away from the vendor and merge back into the crowd. “Well, even if you can’t feel it, the Force flows around you, through you.” Leia cocks her head to the side. “I _could_ sense a connection between you and Cassian. Pretty strong. Maybe you just read him better than I can. Like you can read Bodhi—”

“He’s not at all like my brother,” Jyn says.

Leia arches an eyebrow at that, but before she can comment—and Jyn _knows_ she’s going to have some kind of snarky comment, kriff, she sounded too vehement even to herself—someone hails Leia down from across the street.

It’s the third person who’s recognized them in the three hours they’ve spent perusing Jedha’s street shops. She’s not _really_ resentful; with any luck, this acquaintance will distract Leia long enough for her to forget the thread of their conversation. Nevertheless, she can’t help but wonder: _Does she know everyone in the kriffing galaxy?_

When Cassian had offhandedly mentioned “ _Luke_ ” and said “ _My friend’s brother is a pilot, too. Sort of,_ ” her brain had made a rather radical leap that she’d immediately discounted. While it made sense that she’d think of Leia, the closest person she knew on campus despite their brief interactions, that kind of coincidence would be a little too ridiculous.

The Force works in mysterious ways, they say.

It doesn’t perplex her that one of the most famous Jedi in the galaxy has fallen for Bodhi (he’s her _brother_ after all, sweet and devoted, and what kind of person wouldn’t treasure the opportunity to make him smile?) so much as the fact that her _laser-brained, nerf herding_ brother still hasn’t broken the news to anyone in her family!

Which, actually, would make for an excellent change in subject.

“Speaking of Bodhi,” Jyn says, as Leia’s acquaintance disappears back into the crowd, “he _still_ hasn’t told us about Luke.”

Leia waves this concern aside. “ _Tabloids_ , Jyn. He probably thinks he’s protecting Luke.”

That might sound like Bodhi, but she can still resent him for it. “But Luke told you.”

“He didn’t, actually. Doesn’t have to.”

“Is that some kind of Force-twin thing?”

“No, I just know him. And he doesn’t stop talking about Bodhi, even if he won’t say outright that they’re dating.” Leia smirks and Jyn braces herself. “Sort of like someone else I know.”

“I—” Her mouth works but no words come out. “This—is not the same,” she finishes lamely.

“And here I heard you were such a great debater,” Leia says wistfully, and Jyn likes Leia, she really does, but that twinkle in her eyes is outright offensive.

Scoffing, Jyn looks away, glances at the stalls along the street. This is a mistake. She accidentally makes eye contact with a restaurant host, who launches into several languages to try to get her attention. She pretends she knows none of them, grabs Leia’s arm, and pulls her down a side street.

“Jedha suddenly feels more hostile than I remember,” Leia says, as Jyn tows her for maybe a few more steps than is entirely necessary.

“Practically a war zone,” Jyn mutters, rolling her eyes. “And you started it.”

“What, the aggressive marketing?”

With just a look, Jyn communicates, _You know what I mean_.

“I tell it like it is,” Leia says, her voice light but less humorous. “You’re fixating on this Cassian thing. Any ideas why?”

“I don’t have feelings for Cassian,” Jyn says flatly.

“Okay,” Leia says, shrugging. “Then what else is it?”

“I just…” Why is this hard? “I don’t…”

_I don’t know many people at school_ , is what she doesn’t say. _I didn’t know many people at Rudrig, either._

It’s just—whenever she finds a new connection with someone, whatever connections she already has with anyone else, it doesn't matter—they all somehow seem to break.

Someone leaves.

She leaves.

She messes up, disappoints people, joins the wrong crowd, loses track of people who really had meant something to her along the way.

Of course, there’d been some people who’d been almost constants. Mama, Papa, Bodhi. (She’d never fault them for their schedules, their successes; she was proud of all of them. She just hadn’t kept up.)

And for some time, even Cassian had been a constant.

She’d messed that up, too, hadn’t she? She hadn’t seen him in five years (that was her doing, entirely her doing), and all of a sudden, she’s granted this second opportunity. And she botches it—again. Somehow. Or maybe she’d messed it up so badly back then, it’d never really been made right?

Maybe he was just being polite, those times in the beginning of the semester, maybe he was just—

Maybe he won’t mind, when the semester ends, when her exchange is up, and she goes back to Rudrig—

Leia reaches out and touches her shoulder. “Hey, Jyn.”

Jyn looks back at her.

“I’m just going to say one more thing,” Leia says, gently, “and then let’s put this to rest, okay?”

Jyn nods.

“If you think he’s been acting strange,” she says, “just talk to him. Clear the air. It’s difficult, but at least you’ll know where you stand.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Leia smiles. “Okay. Now. I think I know what will make you feel better. This way.” She pulls Jyn down another street.

_Karma_ , Jyn thinks. She tolerates it through several twists and turns, keeping up with Leia’s increased pace, until a light flashes in her eye, the glint of metal, and she grinds to a halt.

To her right, a vendor two stalls wide displays crammed shelves of colorful plates, mugs, teapots; to her left, another vendor, just as large, displays equally colorful necklaces, bracelets, jewelry.

But just in front of her, squeezed in between these two shops, barely wide enough for two people to stand next to each other, is the most beautiful array of goods Jyn has ever seen.

Vibroblades.

She steps forward without thinking, examines hilts made of silver and gold and platinum, of ivory and wood, inlaid with rubies and emeralds and sapphires. Some blades run straight and sleek; others curve and curl. All the options fan out across the seller’s counter, simpler ones labeled with prices, more elaborate ones unmarked. And behind the merchant, shelves crammed with other vibroweapons, double-blades and swords and rapiers —there’s an ax—a staff—

“Jyn,” Leia says, somewhere faraway.

“Look,” she breathes.

“Yes, fancy swords. Come on, we have places to be.”

“Want to take a look at something?” the vendor asked.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Leia says, grabbing Jyn’s arm.

“Hey, where are we—”

“Trust me. Where I’m taking you is better than swords.”

Jyn sighs and says nothing, just watches as Leia leads them down several streets.

She starts to recognize them, some of the buildings and vendors, and that’s when she realizes that it’s nearly time to meet Cassian for dinner, that they’re headed to the grill already, and she is _not_ ready —

“I think we’re a little early,” she says, turning to Leia, and she collides right into someone.

“Oy, watch—Jyn?!”

It couldn’t be. She takes a step back, looks up into her brother’s eyes, and promptly collides into him again as she leaps up to embrace him. “Bodhi!”

He swings her around before setting her back on the ground.

“What are you doing here?” she asks him. “When did you grow your hair out?”

He laughs. “I could ask the same of you.”

“I’m here on a school trip—oh, Saw is here, and um, Cassian, too…”

Bodhi beams. “Cassian! Where is he?” He looks over her shoulder, around the crowd, but apparently doesn’t find him. “Is Kay here, too? How did you…”

“Hello, Bodhi Rook.” He has to look down and to Jyn’s left to locate the speaker, and finds Leia wielding her most unbearable smug smile. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Leia.”

His smile doesn’t disappear, but it does flicker from unharnessed joy to something between reasonable meeting-the-family nerves to outright terror.

“L-Leia,” he says.

Leia arches an eyebrow.

“It’s Han’s fault, I’m afraid,” says a voice, and from behind Bodhi, Luke Amidala Skywalker emerges.

_This_ , Jyn thinks, _This is what it means to be bright._

He’s all confidence and optimism, radiating in the way he holds himself and the way he smiles. And he looks nothing like what she’d expect of a Jedi—rather than flowing robes, he’s just wearing normal clothes. Well, normal clothes for someone _rich_ : a black Corellian-style jacket trimmed in gold, a blue linen shirt that she swears is the same color as his eyes, black pants with a gold stripe down the side, and shining black boots.

“Hi,” Luke says, holding his hand out to Jyn. “I’m Luke.”

“Jyn,” she says, shaking his hand.

“I know,” he says, “Bodhi’s told me all about you. He’s very proud of you.”

Jyn pulls her hand away, shrugging and looking down the street.

“Please tell me Han’s not actually here,” Leia mutters to Luke.

“Of course he is,” Luke says. He glances over his shoulder. “He’s inside getting us a table. Says he can get us a good deal on a private room.”

“Sure he can,” Leia says, shaking her head. She turns to Bodhi. “Don’t believe a word that scruffy-looking nerf herder says.”

“Who’s scruffy-looking?”

A Wookiee wuffles in response; and it’s the Wookiee she sees first, before a man dressed similarly to Luke, albeit a little less embellished.

“Han Solo,” the man says, nodding to Jyn. “Captain of the _Millennium Falcon_.”

“Oh,” Jyn says. She glances at Bodhi. “Should I recognize…?”

“I told you I loved her,” Leia says to Luke.

“Alright, Leia,” Luke says, like a parent exasperated by the antics of his children, but he chuckles a little.

“Wait a minute,” Jyn says, finally catching up, “did you two organize this?”

“You’re welcome,” Leia says.

“How did you—”

“ _That_ was a Force trick,” Leia says, winking. “I’ve been waiting for them to land all day.”

“We have been planning this for weeks, though,” Luke says.

Bodhi turns and looks at Luke as if he hasn’t just surprised him with a reunion, but in fact saved the galaxy.

Yeah, she can see what Leia means.

“So,” Jyn says; it’s her turn to have a little fun and she grins fiendishly. “How do you know Luke, Bodhi?”

Her brother flushes as red as Mama’s favorite sash. “Umm…”

“We’re dating,” Luke says cheerfully.

“No,” Jyn gasps. Some of the red fades as Bodhi eyes her suspiciously. “For how long?”

“Bodhi wanted to make it a surprise,” Luke says, elbowing him. “But about a month.”

“I see,” Jyn says, nodding seriously. “I must ask you, Luke, what are your intentions towards my brother?”

“Alright, alright,” Bodhi says, shoving Jyn’s shoulder.

“I’d be happy to answer all of your questions, Jyn,” Luke says, earnestly. “We should head inside though.”

“We’re just waiting on two more,” Leia says, mimicking Jyn’s glance down the street. “We’ll go inside—Jyn can flag him down.”

“Is it Cassian?” Bodhi asks. “Is Cassian coming?”

“Yes,” Jyn says, making every effort not to groan her answer. “And Kay-Tu is with him.”

“Oh, Luke, you are going to _love_ Kay,” Bodhi says.

#

“... so it’s a byproduct of the reprogramming,” Cassian explains.

“You did this when you were twelve?” Across the table, Luke leans forward in his seat, resting his arms close to his mostly empty plate.

Cassian nods, and they look across the room, where K-2 and Luke’s astromech converse near the door. Both Cassian and Luke crack identical grins at the sight of K-2 hunched over to listen to a droid less than half his height.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard Cassian talk this much,” Leia says to Jyn, shaking her head.

“He certainly loves Kay… for some reason,” Jyn mutters, but she catches Cassian’s eyes and mirrors his smile.

It strikes him then—amidst the joy, the revelry, as their worlds collide—how fleeting moments like these are for him. He can’t even remember the last time he laughed this hard, or even sat with so many people (seven qualifies as a crowd). He’s not averse to socializing, but there are texts to read and subjects to study and papers to grade, it just doesn’t happen.

“I can’t believe Dad let you take Artoo,” Leia says from the far end of the table. Cassian has surmised, based on Leia’s constant heckling of pretty much anything the man says, that she intentionally chose the seat furthest from Luke’s friend Han.

“Yeah, about that,” Luke says. “He’s expecting you to say hello.”

Leia stares at him. “He wants me to record a message on Artoo.”

“He said you haven’t called him in awhile.”

“I just talked to him three days ago.”

Luke shrugs.

“What am I supposed to say to him?”

“Tell him that Bodhi’s piloting is out of this world,” Luke says.

“No, no, that’s not necessary, Leia,” Bodhi says.

Leia shakes her head. “Don’t worry, I leave the bad puns to Dad and Luke.”

“Let’s not get presumptuous,” Jyn says. She’s stayed pretty quiet—well, so has Cassian, regardless of what Leia thinks, but the rest of the table has taken on the task of maintaining conversation with enough zeal to cover for them. When it comes to Bodhi, however… “You can’t go seeking parental approval before the siblings all approve.”

“You’ve got my approval, Bodhi,” Leia says, patting his arm and eliciting a blush and a shy smile.

“Thanks, Leia.” He turns to his sister and the awkwardness dissipates. “Jyn. I told you to be nice.”

“Just because he’s an Amidala Skywalker,” Jyn says, “doesn’t automatically get him into my good graces.”

“Freeing slaves and disrupting the Hutt cartels’ trade? Restoring democracy to the galaxy? Founding a search-and-rescue relief organization? None of that’s good enough?” Bodhi says.

Jyn shakes her head. “Children can’t claim their parents’ accomplishments.”

“But Jyn, he’s my _brother_ ,” Leia says.

“I know,” Jyn says gravely. “And I’m trying not to hold that against him.”

Cassian looks back at Luke to see how he’s taking this. The subject of their conversation just sits back in his chair, arms crossed but relaxed, one hand idly covering his amused grin.

“What I want to know,” Jyn says, leaning back towards Bodhi, “is if _he’s_ good enough for _you_.”

“Come on, he’s Luke Amidala Skywalker! What more do you need to know? He’s the best damn pilot in the galaxy—”

“Now hold on just a minute,” Han interjects, raising his finger and sitting up. “You want to know who’s the best pilot?” He gestures towards himself. “Kessel run. Less than twelve parsecs.”

To Han’s left, Chewbacca warbles a reply, and they all laugh. Rebuked, Han hiccups and settles back down in his seat.

Bodhi resumes as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “—you’ve read it all on the ‘Net.”

“A person is more than their reputation, Bodes.”

“He _is_ more than his reputation, he’s…” Bodhi sighs and looks dreamily at the display of lanterns hanging in the partition between their section and the rest of the restaurant. It is quite a nice display, an assortment of colors, glowing reds and greens and blues, all shapes and sizes. But Cassian’s pretty sure he sees none of it.

“He is a Jedi, though,” Jyn says. Luke’s handling her interrogation with grace, Bodhi with irritation; and so Cassian looks back at Jyn to see what she’s really up to. He can see it, in the corners of her mouth, the strain of the muscles in her face. She’s trying not to laugh. She’s winding Bodhi up, and going by Luke’s nonchalance, the Jedi has already come to the same conclusion.

“Jedi are allowed to date now,” Bodhi says, impatient.

Cassian sits up a little straighter; this is heading towards political discourse that may not be appropriate—

“...Look, Jyn,” Bodhi goes on. “Chirrut loves him.”

_Oh, kriff_ , Cassian thinks.

The muscles in Jyn’s face stop straining.

“Chirrut knows?” she says, very quietly.

“Okay—Jyn—hear me out,” Bodhi says.

“You told Chirrut before you told me.” She crosses her arms and leans back. Cassian squints;  despite the colored lights, it is somewhat dim in here. But he thinks, maybe, she still might be acting.

“Jyn…” Bodhi says. Well, he’s not irritated anymore. “You know Chirrut just _knows_ things, I couldn’t…”

“I see how it is. It’s cool.”

“Pretty cold, Bodhi,” Cassian says.

Bodhi looks back at him, startled. Betrayed. And then realization finally settles in. “Yeah, okay, take her side,” he says, settling back in his seat, adopting the same feigned air of offense as his sister. “Toss aside years of friendship.”

“I’ve known you both the same amount of time,” Cassian says.

“I have a week on her!” Bodhi reminds him. “A whole week. Which apparently counts for nothing.”

“Yes,” Cassian says, “in the grand scheme of things, a week is nothing.”

A week turns out to be a long time.

After that first day, the rest drag along, filled with guided tours and lectures at places Cassian’s already been, places that remind him of his last visit, places that kick up a dust cloud of memories he doesn’t know what to do with.

Most of them are good. That’s part of the problem and had been at the time, too. Though they’d all been to Jedha before—Bodhi had even lived there, before his mother died, before Galen and Lyra had adopted him—that trip had offered them a new perspective. Old enough to go out on their own, the four of them (Bodhi, Jyn, Cassian, and even K-2, ostensibly as a chaperone) had been left to their own devices.

So they did _everything_ : tried every restaurant, daring each other to find the best dish in the most unexpected places; sought out the most ancient of architectural wonders, temples, monuments, forts; discovered art in every possible place, in the embellishment on a vibroblade hilt, the swirls of color in hanging glass lanterns, the arches and crenellations of the buildings around them, the gleam of the kyber crystals in the Temple, the passion on pilgrims faces.

They’d spent every moment reveling in each other’s curiosity and delight, made up for a year of separation, crammed in experiences to fill out—whatever years of separation had lain before them. (Too many, it would turn out.)

It’s nothing like that this time around. Bodhi, Luke, and Han can’t join them for every tour, even if they wanted to. Cassian’s chaperone duties often prevent him from spending time with Leia and Jyn, and what’s worse, a part of him even feels relieved.

He wanders some of those streets and courtyards and museums without them (wanders through the memories they created there), and he thinks of her smile and excitement, wonders what she thinks of them now, wishes he could see her face. But then he gets downtime, joins Jyn in showing Leia their favorite haunts, and all he can think of is her face in despair, mouth twisted in a frown, hurt and—

And that was the last expression he’d seen on her; for five years, he’d had nothing to replace her anger and the back of her head as she’d stormed out of the tea shop.

“Something’s troubling you, captain?”

He looks up from a kyber crystal, the object of his examination for far too long. The rest of the group has moved on to the other end of the room, listens to another disciple explain the history of the temple and its connection with the crystals.

He’s alone, except for one guardian, who stands between him and the rest of the space, regarding him.

“Chirrut!” He smiles, genuinely pleased even if it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I haven’t been a captain for years. I quit track at university.”

“Still running, though,” Chirrut says.

“I train to keep in shape,” Cassian says.

Chirrut chuckles and shakes his head. “Why would someone so intelligent,” he says, stepping towards Cassian, “stay so willfully ignorant?”

Riddles. Chirrut Îmwe’s favorite pastime. “Is Baze around?”

Chirrut turns towards the tour group, gesturing with his staff—and sure enough, he sees Jyn at the back of the crowd, embracing Chirrut’s partner.

“We were wondering if you two would ever take time out of your busy lives to come visit us,” Chirrut says, sniffing.

“I’m just here on a tour,” Cassian says.

Chirrut raises his eyebrows. “Baze missed you.”

“Can’t blame him,” Cassian says. “It’s hard keeping you in line.”

He feels the whack—a light tap—on the side of his leg before he even sees Chirrut’s staff move. “Hey!” he says, but his smile turns more genuine.

Chirrut grins. Smug.

“Alright,” Cassian says. “Tell me what I don’t want to hear.”

“Do you have a day?”

“About thirty minutes.”

Sighing, Chirrut says, “May the Force be with us.”

He thinks about Chirrut’s words during the long hike to the Catacombs Museum: it takes most of a day, and even the physical exertion isn’t enough to keep them warm as they cross exposed dirt and rocks. _Who wishes they had a warm parka now?_ Cassian thinks, without as much vindication as he would have thought, not when she’s shivering and he’s very near to stripping it off and giving it to her. But Leia, Luke, and Bodhi all offer her their own spares, Bodhi with a teasing, “You never pack the right clothes.”

He thinks about Chirrut’s words as the Catacombs loom above them and as they enter the dark, winding tunnels, the shadows shifting along their way. He swears he catches her gaze lingering a little too long—but is it just a trick of the light?

He thinks about them later in the day, as he finds himself in some old dungeon, maintained only for the preservation of history. He leans against the bars, waits a little longer as the rest of the group passes through.

_You carry a prison wherever you go._

The group spends the night at the top of the Catacombs, in accommodations fashioned sort of like a hotel above the museum, while leaning into the ancient theme, and it’s only a little better than camping. They all gather for dinner in a larger room, circled around an old generator and flickering lantern light. Gerrera tells a ghost story, something from his years during the Clone Wars, something that captivates most of the students.

Jyn and Cassian have heard it before—heard it in this very spot, even.

And as Saw gets going, gets deep into his winding descriptions, Jyn’s head droops down and rests against his shoulder.

He doesn’t move a muscle for the rest of the story.

Even when the ending incites the rest of the students to jump or yelp or scream.

At the noise, the nervous giggles that follow, Jyn sits up and stretches and yawns. The students disperse, Leia dragging Jyn to their shared quarters.

Cassian starts to get up—and Bodhi puts his hand on his shoulder.

“You alright, man?” Bodhi asks, low, quiet. The room is mostly empty now.

“Sure,” Cassian says, frowning. “Just tired, I guess.”

Bodhi gives him a look.

“I don’t know what to tell you—”

“Did something happen between you and Jyn?”

Cassian opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out.

“I mean—” Bodhi starts. “Something recent.”

“Of course not, Bodhi.”

Bodhi cocks his head to the side, stares off towards the direction Jyn and Leia had gone. “Is something _going_ to happen?”

“No! No—Bodhi—I’m not…” but he trails off as Bodhi crosses his arms, arches his eyebrows. Cassian sighs. “How obvious am I?”

Now Bodhi laughs softly. “I don’t know, how bad am I when I’m with Luke?”

Cassian stifles his groan, leans back against the wall. “Do you think she knows?”

“Doesn’t have a clue.”

“You aren’t mad?”

“Mad? Why would I—” Bodhi’s face twists in confusion. “Why would I be mad? Wait a minute—come on, Cass. You don’t think you need my permission, do you?”

“No, of course not, I…” He runs his hands through his hair. “I’m not going to do anything because—she’s not interested.”

This time, Bodhi’s laugh is loud and sharp. Cassian glances towards the hall, towards the rooms where students are supposed to be sleeping.

“Look,” Bodhi whispers, after a long pause, “You won’t know if you don’t ask.”

“But after—”

“It was five years ago. Don’t worry about it. She’s over it.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“Listen,” Bodhi says, touching Cassian’s shoulder again. “I try not to meddle in my sister’s love life. I’m only saying anything because you’re my friend. Talk to her. Not me.”

Bodhi leaves after that, retires to the room he shares with Luke.

Cassian lingers late into the night.

It’s both Bodhi and Chirrut’s words, still bouncing around in his head, that distract him all through the morning. Through the trek downstairs. Outside into the shadow of the Catacombs, as they all gather to leave. Thank the Force, the transports come to pick them up directly from here—no long return walk to the City.

“Cassian,” Leia says, shaking his arm to get his attention. “You get any sleep last night?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Some.”

“Wouldn’t happen to know where Jyn is, then?” He’s so tired, so distracted, he doesn’t immediately recognize the two implications here right away, not until after a moment or two—does Leia think…? But then that means—

“Wasn’t she staying with you?”

“Wasn’t there when I woke up this morning, and she left her comm on her nightstand.”

That wakes him up.

He straightens, peers over the gathering crowd—doesn’t see her.

He curses.

“Stall the ship,” he yells over his shoulder. “I have to find Jyn.”

He takes the stairs two at a time, legs burning, and it’ll ache tomorrow after the sleepless night, but for now he barely registers any of it.

He’s got a hunch where she might be, but it’s just feeble hope, because how could he possibly search the whole complex for her if she’s not there?

He swears it takes another week to get there, the top of the tower, to the room with the window that looks out on the city.

And there she is, curled up beneath it, a holobook resting on the floor by her left hand.

“Jyn,” he says, not even aware of when he’d crossed the room to her. “Jyn, come on. We’ve got to go.”

She wakes slowly, like she’s part of the ancient complex herself, creaking and shaking off dust. “What time…” she says, but her eyes widen (and then squeeze shut) at the brightness of the light.

“Come on, I’ll help you pack.”

She leads him towards her room, tosses her things haphazardly into her bag.

“What were you doing there, anyways?”

Her eyes are mostly clear of their sleepy haze when she looks up at him, a faint blush rising in her cheeks, pink like the sky outside.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she says, shrugging. She picks up the holobook, the last one, and shoves it on top of the rest of her things.

“And you…” Cassian starts.

She bristles. “I just went for a walk.”

“Okay.”

She picks up her bag and slings it over her shoulder, marches towards the door and then whirls around.

“Wait.” She takes a deep breath, slowly lets her bag fall to the floor. “I’m sorry, Cassian, I—”

“Sorry? It’s alright, but Saw is…”

“No,” she says. “Not… that. I…”

She clears her throat.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about, Jyn,” he says slowly, confused, wondering if she’s still a little lost in some dream.

“Yes, I do, obviously, I…” She looks away, runs her hand over her bangs, her face, and then she turns back to meet his eyes. “I’m not sure. Well. Whatever you’re—” She groans, frustrated at something, at the words that won’t flow.

Cassian sits down on one of the beds. “What’s going on?”

She glances once more out at the corridor before dragging herself to sit beside him. She picks up one leg, rests her chin on her knee.

“I know I’ve made things weird between us,” she says. “You know, back… before.”

_Oh, kriff_ , Cassian thinks. She’s not—

“And I’m sorry,” she says, firm and confident and earnest. “I wasn’t really in a good place back then, and I just got all caught up in—it was a good time, wasn’t it? That trip. So I thought … I just misread things, is all.”

The light of the rising sun filters in through the tiny rectangle that serves as a window to this room, shines on her face, her hair, her eyes. They’re very close, all of a sudden—and how does that seem to happen, how does he fall into her gravity like that? And just like the very moment she’s apologizing for, she looks up at him, nervous and optimistic, so full of hope, eyes green and bright against sepia memories. She’d leaned up, and closed her eyes, and—and he had realized just what she was doing.

And backed away.

And when she’d opened her eyes, isolated and alone, all that hope had crumbled to dust on the floor; whatever pieces remained, he’d crushed them with his next words.

“ _No, Jyn, I’m sorry, I just don’t—you’re Bodhi’s sister, yeah?_ ” Oh, had that not gone over well. She was sixteen and he was nineteen, and he hadn’t ever looked at her that way (well, not until that moment, but it was just—it was the trip and the lighting, and she must have misread things; he’d spent several years going over and regretting any of the wrong signals he might have given her until eventually the memories had faded or he’d blocked them out).

He hadn’t really looked at her (like the sun after a storm) until he’d seen her years later, standing on top of the temple in the orange light of Yavin.

“You know, it was years ago,” she says, laughing nervously. “And I never apologized appropriately, for putting you in that position, and for all the things I, uh, said to you… after. And again at the tea shop…”

“It’s alright, Jyn. It was a long time ago.”

“I just want to make sure—we’re friends, right?”

He hasn’t slept well in days, barely slept last night, so it sort of makes sense, the coldness that shakes through him.

“I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” she says. “I know you’ve probably just been busy with school work. But just in case. I don’t want to… drive you away.”

“No, Jyn,” he says softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” she says, and a stiffness in her shoulders releases. “Good.”

“We do have to get going, though.”

“Oh! Right.” She gets off the bed, walks to the door, grabs her bag. “You coming?”

“Yes,” he says. “I’m right with you.”


	3. Eadu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super special shout out & thank you to my wonderful beta, [Allatarial](https://allatariel.tumblr.com/), for her support, vast knowledge of the Star Wars universe, and all her help in polishing this chapter!!!!
> 
> I hope the ridiculous length of this chapter makes up for the ridiculous wait for it!

“I want the full scoop,” Lyra says.

Jyn sets her holocomm down on Cassian’s desk and leans back in the chair. “I don’t remember it all, Mama, it was like a month ago.”

“Not even four weeks,” Cassian mutters from the small stove at the front of the studio apartment he’s allowed to have because he’s a grad student and definitely the reason she’s spent a sizable portion of her time at his place since their talk on Jedha.

“ _It’s his cooking_ ,” is what she tells Leia whenever she comments on it. Of course, it’s also his company, but it’s certainly _not_ what Leia’s implying.

Because that’d been the whole point of the conversation on Jedha. She wants Cassian to feel comfortable around her as a friend, not like she’s his best friend’s sister still harboring a crush on him. Not that she’d ever harbored a crush. She’d just been swept up in the moment. The atmosphere of that trip. The cut of his jaw in the light—she’d just wanted to kiss him. Then. In that moment.

And so really, the reason—the _main_ reason—they hang out in his actual dorm is because of the cooking. (And, sure, K-2’s tightening roof security and the flock of students now invading the library prepping for midterms.) If she knew any other grad students, she’d probably hang out with them, too. Good food is hard to come by on campus.

(Although she suspects most grad students do not put their stoves to half as good use as Cassian does. Divinity wafts from the pot, like it has for _hours_ , permeating the room and teasing her rumbling stomach.)

“First impression?”

Jyn tears her gaze away from Cassian’s taste-testing and looks back at Mama. “Nice,” she says, shrugging.

“At last, the real intel comes out,” Mama teases. “Breaking news! Luke Amidala Skywalker is… _nice_.”

“You _could_ ask Bodhi,” Jyn says, fiddling with the strap of her camera, resting to the right of where she’d set down the holocomm. It occurs to her how little footage she actually took while there; all she’s got are a few cuts of the Temple, the streets, the Catacombs. Very little on the people she’d spent her time with. If she could just _send_ Mama a video instead of having to describe the whole trip, that’d be preferable.

“I have,” Mama says. “I’m interested in a third-party perspective.”

“I like him,” Jyn says, hoping it’s firm and positive enough for Mama to move on. “He’s good for Bodhi.”

She says this with sincere conviction; it sums up all Mama really needs to know. The rest of the details will come later, as they get to know Luke on their own terms.

And she doesn’t really feel like it’s her place to say more.

A relationship with a celebrity like Luke comes with obvious complications. Of course she’s concerned about that—Bodhi had been too, which is why he’d waited a little bit longer to tell their parents. He’d only told them a few days ago, and so here Jyn is, weeks and weeks after her encounter with Bodhi’s new beau, failing to serve up proper sisterly gossip.

“If you want more,” Jyn says, “you’ll have to ask Cassian. He takes good notes.”

Cassian snorts.

“Oh, is Cassian there?” Mama’s face lights up, like she’s actually got hope for some decent intel now. “Put him on. I could use a full report.”

“Sorry, Mama,” Jyn says. “He’s cooking right now.” This is not entirely true; “cooking,” at this point, mostly entails keeping an eye on the simmering pot, and Cassian is apparently checking his datapad.

“And you’re not helping?”

“He kicked me out of the kitchen,” she says, “I don’t have high enough security clearance for this particular Andor family recipe.”

Through the holoimage of Mama, she sees Cassian smirk.

“What’s he cooking?” Mama asks. “And say hi for me, by the way.”

“Hi, there,” Cassian says over his shoulder. “It’s nerf chili.”

“Mmm,” Mama says. “The famous Andor chili.” She turns away for a second, stares at something out of range of her holoprojector. Vaguely, Jyn hears her father’s voice in the background, but can’t make out what he’s saying. Mama continues, “Papa wants to know if _he_ has the appropriate security clearance for that recipe—and also, unrelatedly, whether Cassian will be joining you on the Scholars trip to Eadu.”

Cassian actually laughs at that. “He does meet the prerequisite cooking abilities,” he says, and Jyn sticks her tongue out at him. She’s a halfway decent cook, just not up to Cassian’s ridiculous standards, apparently. “But I’ll have to forward the access request to upper management.”

She’s about to ask if Mama caught that, but judging by her grin and Papa’s laughter in the background, she guesses they heard. “Speaking of the Andors,” Mama says, “we talked to them the other day. Papa and Jeron are partnering to install one of our crystal power arrays on Fest.”

“Oh,” Cassian says, and Jyn finally decides to move around the desk, turning her holcomm so Mama can see both of them. “Did they get the permits from the Kyber Regulatory Commision?”

“I think that’s why Galen’s wondering if you’ll be on Eadu,” Mama says. “They’ve run into some bureaucratic issues. He’s curious about your perspective.”

“So it wasn’t for the recipe?”

Mama laughs. “Can’t it be both?”

“How efficient,” Cassian says.

“So will you be there?”

Jyn looks back at Cassian at the question, inadvertently catching his eyes as he hesitates.

“I’ll… consider it.” He sets down his datapad and picks up the spoon for another taste test.

“Please do,” Mama says. “Papa looks forward to seeing you both.”

“I’m surprised you two haven’t visited Yavin yet,” Cassian says, still focused on the pot.

“We’ll manage it sometime before the semester ends,” Lyra says. “Before Jyn goes back to Rudrig. Unless she decides to stay?”

“Okay, Mama, I think the food is ready,” Jyn says.

Her mother lets out a noise between a laugh and a sigh. “I understand. I had to try.”

“No, Jyn’s right, the food is ready,” Cassian says, flicking off the stove.

“Alright, I’ll let you two eat. Jyn, let us know what Cassian decides. Bye, you two!”

“Bye, Mama.”

Jyn turns off the holoprojector and, in the almost simultaneous termination of the noise of the holo and the stove, silence settles between them, punctuated only by the sound of Cassian ladling portions of the steaming chili into two bowls.

She settles back in his desk chair, curls up and crosses her legs as he hands her a bowl and then sits across from her on his bed.

“You don’t have to feel obligated to come,” Jyn says, stirring her food to let some of the heat escape.

She hears the clink of Cassian’s spoon against his bowl. “Not sure your father would appreciate your persuasion tactics,” he says. When she glances up at him, he’s smirking into his bowl, but his tone doesn’t quite match his expression.

She shrugs, even though he’s not looking. “Don’t worry about him. He can always call you if he has an urgent question.”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t want to impose on your family reunion.”

“Come on,” she says, before she can stop herself. “Papa considers you family.” His spoon stops moving, but he doesn’t look up. “You wouldn’t be imposing.”

“Hm.” They both go back to blowing on their food, taking tentative bites.

The truth is Jyn wants Cassian to come. Eadu itself is cold, wet, miserable, but not half as bleak as the memories of the time she spent there. Out of all her father’s labs, she hates it the most, and not just because she’d broken her arm there when she was eleven, when she went climbing and slipped in the rain. If anything, climbing that cliff had been a highlight, and the pain in her arm hadn’t been half as annoying as Bodhi’s _I told you so’_ s in the med ward, like he didn’t get up to his own shenanigans.

No, she hates Eadu because every time she’s run into her father’s colleague Orson Krennic, it’s been there.

On Eadu, she’d watched her father’s shoulders droop under whatever pressures Krennic rained down upon him; she’d listened to her parents argue late into the night; she’d noticed lines spreading across their faces, deep and dark against their paling skin.

For all it’s rain, nothing good ever blossomed there, only wore away in the darkness.

Neither Mama nor Bodhi would be with her this trip; Mama would be staying with Grandma on Aria Prime, and Bodhi, of course, has a job. He couldn’t take off every time Jyn went gallivanting across the galaxy for school.

So if Cassian could come—well, it would just be a little more bearable.

But she didn’t want to pressure him into it. That’d be weird, right? She’d already asked him last week, and he’d mentioned a busy schedule. Now Mama had asked, and he still hesitated. So she couldn’t pressure him into it, didn’t want him to think that she was—what was the word that Leia had used—codependent?

Yeah, they’re not codependent.

Leia is very wise when it comes to many subjects, but she’s totally off-base when it comes to Cassian.

Codependent friends wouldn’t struggle to make conversation, right?

Cassian clears his throat and she looks up, startled.

“What your mother said,” he starts, still poking at his food. “Do you think you’ll stay another semester?”

She shifts in her chair and balances her bowl on her knee. “We haven’t even had midterms yet, I—” She shrugs. “Maybe. I still have some time before I file the paperwork.”

He takes a spoonful and savors it before finally responding, his voice measured, “It’d be nice. If you stayed.” When she doesn’t respond (because she can’t, she doesn’t know what the appropriate response is for something like that), he continues, “You know. To keep Kay in line.”

At that, she grins. “You think we’ve given him enough of a free rein? Time to get up to more mischief?”

“I can’t pick sides,” Cassian says, setting his bowl down on his nightstand and raising his hands. “I can tell you, though, he’s gotten quite comfortable with his current security protocols.”

“Hmm,” Jyn says. “We can’t let him rest on his laurels. He’s got a campus of students to protect.”

When he looks back at her, he meets her grin. “I don’t want to hear any of your plans. I have to be able to plead innocence.”

“Like you don’t have the best sabacc face.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, using the very expression she’s describing. But she knows his tell, the little tick in his jaw indicating he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

“Alright, spymaster,” she says, setting her bowl down on the desk and rising to join him on the bed. “Are we going to watch this _Secrets of the Republic_ documentary or what?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“Can’t wait to learn about this supposed planet killer, then?” She settles in next to him, cross-legged, a good, _friendly_ distance away.

“I’ve been on the waitlist for _weeks_ ,” he says, grabbing his datapad. “It’s very hard to get ahold of.”

His desk holoprojector flickers on, filling the air above his workspace yet again as the branding graphics for this particular production company whoosh around them.

It’s not until she wakes, an hour and a half later, that she realizes she fell asleep—that she fell asleep on Cassian’s shoulder—that all the good, friendly distance has melted away and he’s gently shaking her awake, his face just inches from hers and—

She pulls back suddenly, too suddenly; her head spins from the sleep that had settled within. Shaking her head, stretching, she mutters an apology.

“It’s fine—”

“I should,” she stifles a yawn, “head back to my dorm.”

“Sure.”

She stands, gathers her things, feeling sluggish the whole time.

“Cassian,” she says at the door. “If you want to come to Eadu. It’d be nice.”

(In about two minutes, on the other side of the door, she’ll cringe at these sleep-inspired words. Nothing about Eadu is _nice_.)

“Oh,” he says. “Sure. If you wa—if you don’t mind.”

“I mean,” she says quickly, “I know your schedule is—”

“No, it’s fine,” he says, rising and collecting their dinner bowls. “The deal your father is talking about is pretty big news for Fest. I want to help, if I can. I’ll rearrange my schedule. For y—it.”

Cassian must be just as tired as she is; he keeps misspeaking.

She nods. “Okay. Good.”

When the door closes behind her, she finally replays the whole interaction in her head and slumps against the wall, nearly banging her head against it, wondering if she might able to shake the memory out.

“For your well-being, I must advise against continuation of that maneuver.”

She looks up. “Kay.”

“Jyn. Do you require assistance returning to your dorm?”

“If I didn’t know any better,” she says, thinking _if I didn’t hit my head so hard I starting hallucinating_ , “I might think you were concerned about what happens to me. Like a friend.”

“You’re a friend of Cassian’s, therefore you are a friend of mine. Cassian has been very clear about this.”

Despite herself—or perhaps, in gratitude for the sense of humor K-2 draws out of her, she grins. “I see. You know, it just occurred to me. My mother might know how to remove that paint from your chassis.”

“Why would she know that?”

“Her mother is an artist. She’ll be visiting her soon.”

“This just occurred to you now?”

“Yep.”

“Human brains are so unreliable.”

Later, as she drifts to sleep in her own bed, when her brain for some inexplicable reason feels the need to wonder whether Cassian will wear that stupid, puffy blue parka (that parka that looks quite good on him)—she can’t help but agree with Kay’s assessment.

#

“So, how long have you been in love with Jyn?”

This is Cassian’s fault, really, for being too predictable: Leia corners him after the Student Government Association meeting. He’d lingered, like he always does at the end of these functions, chatting with other members who hadn’t gotten their fill of talking during the meeting. Cassian listens, trapped, the perfect prey for opportunistic Skywalkers bent on tormenting him.

Leia waits, patient, watching, as Cassian slowly stows his datapad in his bag and turns to meet her knowing gaze. At least she let the room empty first.

Even still, he’s no choice but to don that sabacc expression that Jyn had teased him about— _and why is Leia smirking now?_

“You used to be very difficult for me to read, you know,” Leia says.

“Don’t use the Force, Leia.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Is that against parliamentary procedure, too?”

“Jedi aren’t supposed to meddle in political affairs.” He lifts his bag over his shoulder.

“Good thing I’m not a Jedi, then.” She follows him out the door. “By the way, I wasn’t using the Force.”

He looks at her, and it’s his turn to wait patiently.

“No one ever trusts a Force user, do they?” Leia mutters. She sighs. “Fine. A little bit, yes. And a little bit no.”

“You do this with all your friends?”

“As a point of preference, no. But you seem stressed.”

He navigates through the desks and offices that make up the upper level of the temple, typically used for administration purposes and positions, but also for SGA meetings.

“I understand your concern,” Cassian says, nodding at Draven as they pass. “No one has ever been stressed at an SGA meeting before.”

“You can keep trying to deflect,” Leia says.

“You won’t take the hint?”

They reach the lift and Leia turns to look at him, cocking her head to the side. “I’m going to lob that one back at you.”

Cassian’s mouth twitches as he holds back another retort. This is how Leia interacts with people she considers friends. Her antagonism comes from a good place. And she’s clearly not aware of this particular personality quirk, or else she might be more occupied with her own soul searching regarding that pilot friend of Luke’s.

So, she wants to help.

The ding of the lift covers his sigh. “I’m trying not to make a big deal out of this.”

She follows him into the lift. “You do realize you’re a little obvious about it, right?”

“Why do you say that?”

Leia shakes her head. “You don’t want to hear the list of examples.”

He runs his hand across his face, through his hair—and then freezes. “Does—has Jyn noticed?”

“Unbelievably,” Leia starts, “No.”

His hand slowly lowers as he exhales in relief.

“Good. Please don’t tell her.”

Head still tilted as she regards him, Leia says, “I won’t, but—why are you asking? You are going to tell her yourself, right?”

“Of course not. I’m trying to stop.”

“I see. And why would you want to do that?”

Cassian fixes her with a look, and if she’s so good at reading him, it should say enough. But she just raises her eyebrows, waiting. Oh, so she’s going to make him say it. “I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. She’s not interested.”

“And you know this how?”

“She made it very clear on Jedha.”

“So you asked her out, and she rejected you.”

The lift stops, dings, the door opens. “No,” he says, hurrying out.

Leia sure is fast, for someone so much shorter than him. “Then what happened?”

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, but continues forward, towards the library, not answering. The hall off the main corridor that leads from the lift to the library is crowded enough that Leia deems it unnecessary, at least for now, to continue her pressing.

But she stays with him, nodding and smiling to anyone who passes, and Cassian can’t fathom why someone with the priorities of a newly crowned princess of Alderaan—with a former chancellor as her mother and the Master Jedi who reformed the whole Order as her father—would have any interest in the ill-fated emotions of Cassian Andor’s heart.

At last, they reach an emptier corridor.

“I’m just concerned about you,” Leia says quietly.

“You don’t have to be,” Cassian says. “I can manage.”

“But why would you want to?”

This is not the question he expected from Leia.

“Why would I…?”

“If you like someone, and they like you…” Leia shrugs. “Why would you hold back from that?”

“Jyn was very clear on Jedha,” Cassian starts again. “That she sees me as a friend. Just a friend.”

“She said that?”

“She said…” Because he hasn’t forgotten the words. “‘I just want to make sure—we’re friends, right?’”

Leia pauses in the middle of the corridor, and out of politeness that stretches thin his already limited patience, he waits.

“She was worried you were avoiding her,” Leia says slowly, like she’s trying to figure something out. And then she looks up, the light of understanding in her eyes. “And you were avoiding her. Because you’re in love with her. And now you don’t want to upset her—can’t avoid her, can’t admit your feelings.”

“That’s the gist of it, doctor.” Cassian resumes his course towards the library. “Our friendship is important to me. I have to make it work.”

“For what it’s worth,” Leia says, catching up. “Your feelings won’t upset her.”

“They won’t?” Cassian says, turning and pausing again. “And if your brother’s best friend confessed his feelings for _you_ ,” he says. “How would that make you feel?”

“If—who?” Leia laughs. “Do you mean Han?”

Cassian raises his brows.

“I don’t think Han really cares about anything,” she says, and all her humor has drained, leaving her tone even more snappish than usual. “Or anybody.”

“Denial,” Cassian says, “is not a good look for a politician.”

Leia opens her mouth, closes it, frowns.

Cassian hears the words he just said and winces. “Leia, I’m sorry, I—”

“Fine,” Leia says, still sharp, but he’s not entirely sure the new ferocity is completely directed at him. “You talk to Jyn. And I’ll…” She hesitates. “...talk to Han.” Her face sets into determination, the look she gets when she’s trying to wrangle order during a contentious SGA meeting. “And maybe we can double date.”

She smirks, and then turns and strands Cassian with two puzzles: first, whether Jyn might have been wrong about who has the best sabacc face.

And second, whether Leia really thinks he’s so much of a coward not to call her bluff.

He sighs, his hand hovering over the panel to open the door. Jyn will be waiting for him, for their scheduled study time together. And she won’t expect any words, won’t require any kind of conversation, just—silent companionship. It shouldn’t be this hard.

He takes a deep breath, and enters the library with new resolve.

#

Jyn grips the armrests, like a fool. They haven’t even entered Eadu’s atmosphere, but she grips them anyways, as if they’ll steady the turmoil coursing through her veins.

It doesn’t make sense to be nervous like this.

But Orson Krennic always gets under her skin.

“Hey,” Cassian says to her left. He’s sitting with them since he’s not chaperoning this time. “There’s no reason to think he’ll be there.”

“Kay already told me the odds,” she mutters, grumpy and reluctant to admit that her favorite prank subject had offered information intended to be helpful. “I’ve just got a bad feeling about this.”

“And it’s not just the weather?” Leia mutters, glancing at the viewport. Outside, the planet looms closer, the swirls of storms more ominous as they approach.

“Why are you coming, again?” Jyn asks. Maybe it comes out a little snappier than she meant, maybe Eadu is already affecting her, but it really is strange for Leia to be here.

It’s strange for all three of them to be here.

They’re the only three non-engineering students aboard the transport, and while Galactic Scholars trips are open to all students in the program, no one who wasn’t explicitly attending for the opportunity to learn from galactic-renowned scientist Galen Erso had been keen on sightseeing on Eadu.

And they could hardly be faulted for that.

As Galen’s daughter (and unofficial facilitator of the trip—Leia and Cassian had roped her into coordinating with her father), Jyn had a good reason for going to one of the most miserable planets in the galaxy. (Luke’s quips about Tatooine being the furthest from the ‘bright center of the universe’ failed to take into account that Tatooine, at least, _was_ bright. And also dry.)

She knew why Cassian was there: because her father had requested it. ( _Because_ you _requested it_ , a soft, hopeful voice at the back of her mind whispers, but she tamps it down because hope can be a dangerous gateway to disappointment.)

(Not that there was anything she was particularly hoping for.)

“I’m invested,” Leia says.

Cassian snorts and Jyn narrows her eyes at both of them. “In business on Eadu?”

“Certain business, yes.” Leia glances at Jyn’s vice-grip. “What’s the bad feeling?”

“Orson Krennic,” Cassian says. “Her father’s business colleague.”

“Business _leech_ ,” Jyn mutters, releasing her grip on the armrests since it’s attracting far too much attention. She flexes her fists, forces herself to relax, or at least appear relaxed.

“He oversees the architectural design and construction of the energy facilities,” Cassian explains, “focuses on the administrative aspects—zoning, public relations, funding—so Galen can focus more on the infrastructure of the plant itself.”

“He doesn’t oversee all of them,” Jyn says, crossing her arms. “Thank the Force.”

“Right,” Cassian says, turning back to Jyn. “So there’s no reason to think he’ll be there.”

Reason has nothing to do with Orson Krennic; that’s what Jyn has always thought, at any rate.

Sure enough, three hours later, as they tromp down the ramp, their footsteps drowned out by the downpour, she spots the tell-tale white cloak, flapping in the rain.

She hasn’t even spotted her father yet. Her first sight on this rain-soaked, cursed planet is that stupid—

“A white cape in this weather,” Leia says, arching a brow. “If I judged a man on his fashion sense…”

“It’d be accurate,” Jyn snaps, pulling up the hood of her poncho.

“Maybe the wind will catch his cape…” Cassian suggests.

Jyn tilts her head in a slight nod of approval. “Platform _is_ rather slippery.”

“Not plotting an assassination, are you?”

Neither Jyn nor Cassian respond. Leia raises her second brow and looks away; they proceed across the platform in silence, until, at last, Papa’s voice rises above the patter of the rain and shriek of the wind.

“Stardust!”

She can’t help it—Jyn allows a smile to break the irritability struggling to dominate her demeanor. Her last few steps quicken as she closes the gap and launches into his embrace, the hood of her poncho already falling off.

She pays it no mind. Neither the tempest nor the cretin lurking just behind her father will dampen this happiness, at least—not for now. When Papa squeezes her tight, she closes her eyes and squeezes back until he lets go. She slips away, gives him space to greet Cassian and pointedly turns her back on Krennic— _Oops, didn’t see you there_ —as if she can pretend he’s not present just a little while longer.

“Cassian,” Papa says, sharing a hug with him, too. “It’s been awhile.”

“Too long,” Cassian says.

“Papa,” Jyn says, “this is our friend, Leia.”

Leia smiles, and somehow manages to look beautiful, ethereal, with rain sliding down the sides of her hood.

“Galen Erso,” she says, “I’ve heard so much about your work. Your crystal arrays have brought energy—and hope—to billions across the galaxy.”

Before he can respond, Krennic clears his throat. Five words—that’s all Papa had a chance to speak before Krennic weasels in.

“It truly is a pleasure,” Galen says. “Please, allow me to introduce you to my colleague, Director Orson Krennic.”

“Galen,” Krennic chides through a smile, “You didn’t tell me I’d be in the presence of royalty.”

“Afraid that’s my fault, Director,” Leia says, briefly glancing at Krennic. Her gaze somehow finds the balance of polite and ‘cool’—chillier than the air around them. Then she turns back to Papa and her expression warms. “I hope my last-minute decision hasn’t inconvenienced you.”

“Of course not,” Krennic says. “We understand, you must keep busy. We’re pleased to have you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Leia says. Jyn can’t imagine how she withstands it, holding on to that neutral, diplomatic mask. Two minutes of conversation and she’s already fuming, just at the sight of his face and the sound of his voice and his stupid, greedy way of barging into places he’s not welcome.

But then, maybe Leia is used to people eager to leverage a relationship with her for their own gains.

“You remember Cassian,” Papa says, cutting Krennic off before he can start groveling at Leia’s feet.

“Ah, yes, Governor Andor’s son.”

Jyn grits her teeth.

“How have you been, sir?” Cassian asks, wearing a mask to match Leia’s. His jaw only twitches just a little; or at least, Jyn imagines it does, since it’s nearly too dark to see. He shifts towards the door slightly, enough that Papa takes the hint to lead them out of the rain.

“Excellent. I’ve just been in touch with your father, actually,” Krennic says as they walk. “I’ve heard your future looks quite promising.”

Lightning flashes overhead just as they step inside, and in that second, Jyn feels a flash of trepidation—the fear that Krennic just might be trying to pounce on Cassian’s career and potential, too, like he’s already done with her father, like he no doubt wants to do with Leia. But attempting to attach himself to an Amidala Skywalker might be too ambitious, even for Krennic; Cassian would be a better find—

She looks up and finds him at her side, his hand touching her elbow. She’s completely missed his response to Krennic, who’s now walking a step ahead with her father and Leia, while Cassian falls in step with her.

“It’s four days,” he says quietly. “Just take it one day at a time.”

“Sure,” she says, tearing her gaze from his, unwilling to focus on just how soft his eyes are, how beautiful his face looks surrounded by the fluff of the blue parka that he _did_ decide to wear.

Unfortunately, between suffering Krennic’s general existence and figuring out whatever it is her heart has decided to do in Cassian’s presence, just getting through day one proves challenging enough.

After dropping their belongings in the guest dorms and a quick complimentary breakfast buffet, they sit through her father’s introductory lecture, seated at the back of the class as he welcomes the engineering students.

But just like on the platform, Krennic interjects, reminding the students of _all_ the opportunities in their field, barely letting Papa finish his pitch on all the new insights his facility is pursuing, and an hour later, Jyn is the first out of the auditorium, fuming.

“You see?” she says, as Cassian rushes to follow her. “He’s got to lord it over all the students that _he’s_ the one in charge. I bet he’s recruiting. Of _course_ he’s here. Kriffing leech. He’ll whisk these students away to unfilling, bureaucratic, paper-pushing jobs when they could be—”

“Gym?” Cassian asks.

Jyn sighs. “Yeah. Gym.”

They check in with her father and Leia to let them know they’re ducking out of the next class and will meet them for lunch later.

“You sure you want to stay?” Jyn asks Leia, a little incredulously, glancing at the topic of the next discussion.

“I told you,” Leia says, shrugging. “Your father’s work is relevant to my interests.”

“The physics of using crystal arrays to produce energy is relevant to the politics of Alderaan?”

“Improving energy efficiency is always relevant to governing,” Leia says. “I want to see close-hand the kind of work your father does. My parents are curious if this is the energy breakthrough the galaxy needs.” Then, smirking, she adds, “But you two have fun together,” before turning her back on both of their sputtering, awkward protestations.

“I’m still skeptical,” Jyn says, several minutes later, stalking back to their guestrooms to change. “She’s up to something.”

“She is right, though,” Cassian says, low and maybe a little belligerently. She frowns, but thinks of Cassian’s father and Fest, and idly wonders if there’s some age in life when children are expected to take on the mantle of their parents’ goals. Still, that doesn’t necessarily seem like something Cassian would begrudge, and she can’t figure out what’s bothering him.

Maybe Eadu’s just working it’s curse on him, too.

It figures.

They reach the gym twenty minutes later and Jyn beelines for the punching bags, but they’re all already taken. Why’s the gym crowded halfway through the morning, anyways? Shouldn’t these people be working?

With no insight into that dilemma, and unwilling to wait for an opening, she turns to the climbing wall to help clear her head. Her father had it installed after she’d fallen and broken her arm from climbing outside, even if she rarely came to this facility. If she wanted to climb, she could do so inside, in a dry and well-lit room.

It’s not exactly what she’d been wanting, but maybe searching for handholds will provide enough of a distraction that her mind can forget Orson Krennic.

Behind her, Cassian buckles into his harness as she grabs the first few handholds and hoists herself up. She doesn’t feel compelled to wait for him; she recalls, he’s a decent climber himself and can catch up if he wants to.

She just needs space.

She focuses on climbing—gripping and pinching and crimping as required, speeding up the wall, dangling from the edge—and lets the rest of the world fall away as she searches for the best holds. The wall fills her vision and fills her consciousness; she learns its texture with her hands and feet, feels the strain in her arms, and only when she’s at the top does she relinquish her hold on her thoughts.

Glancing down, she finds Cassian just a few feet to the right and below her. He meets her gaze, eyes dark and focused with his own intent. Sweat gathers at his forehead, gleaming in the bright light of the gym, and she can see the lines of muscle in his bare arms as he pulls himself up, closer to her—

She lets go, falls back and dangles, feet skimming the edge of the wall.

The rappel down is hardly comfortable, her face burning with something more than the heat of her workout, and when she gets to the bottom, she unclips and heads to the next course, on the far side of the wall, but then she keeps slipping and doesn’t manage to make it higher than two-thirds of the way up before she gives up on climbing.

Cassian, she sees, has vanished from the climbing area, thank the Force. She checks on the punching bags again and finds them free, to her delight, so she unleashes all her fury and tension.

Her arms feel like noodles by the time she’s ready to stop, and for just a second, she leans against the bag, hugging it. She ought to search for Cassian, but he’s already found her. He pushes off the wall as she makes her way towards him (and there’s no reason her _legs_ should feel like noodles too, she’s barely used them).

“Feeling better?” he asks, as they exit the gym and make their way back to the dorms.

She shrugs, a simple gesture which somehow requires more concentration than it should, and not because it’s a lie. She just suddenly, inexplicably, doesn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. Is she nervous? Why is she nervous? Just because Cassian is objectively good-looking and maybe it’s been awhile since—

“I’ll, uh, meet you at the caf,” he says at his door. She nods, absently, thinking maybe the cold rain of Eadu wouldn’t be entirely unwelcome at the moment.

Thirty minutes later, as she walks the corridors towards the caf, feeling conspicuously isolated without any presence by her side, she’s forced to acknowledge the revelation that’s been slowly overtaking her.

She’s got a really bad problem.

And also, Leia was right. And that might be even _worse_.

She finds Leia waiting for her in the cafeteria, smirking like she’s somehow read Jyn’s mind. “Where’s Cassian?” she asks, by way of greeting.

Jyn forces another shrug. “He said he’d meet me here. He’s not here yet?”

“Thought you two were joined at the hip,” Leia says.

Jyn grabs a tray and starts towards the buffet without answering that.

Cassian shows up late, muttering excuses about being caught up in a developing news report about the rescue of trapped miners on the Gorsian moon Cynda. Sure, while it certainly _sounds_ endearingly like Cassian to get caught up in the news, something rings false to her ears. Wasn’t that old news? Was there some new development? She’s about to pull out her datapad to fact check when Cassian settles down at the opposite end of the table, on the other side of Krennic.

_Fine_ , she thinks, frowning into her food. _No—good._ Cassian’s choice would further prove Leia wrong. They don’t _have_ to sit next to each other.

Krennic corners Cassian into a discussion of the story that eventually leads to an interrogation of Cassian’s interests and studies, and Jyn listens with her usual scholarly admiration of Cassian’s analysis and general political insights, especially when Cassian dismantles a few of Krennic’s own points.

“You’re quite the one to watch, aren’t you?” Krennic says.

Before he can continue, and before Cassian can respond, her father interjects, “Jyn, what about you? How are you liking Yavin?”

After that, Cassian barely talks. She tells herself she doesn’t mind, and instead plays catch up with her father, talking about her studies, her extracurriculars, and, of course, inevitably, Bodhi’s love life.

She didn’t think she’d actually ever be _grateful_ for Krennic’s interjections, but at least he prevents further interrogation about that. She glances apologetically at Leia as the mention of her brother provides Krennic with an excuse to turn his attention back to her.

But as Krennic fills the rest of the lunch period with an endless, highly exaggerated list of his achievements on his last project, her meager gratitude evaporates. Even as Leia and Cassian remain quiet, she can’t help but think—I came here for _Papa_.

Can’t she just have lunch with her father _alone_? Can’t she have a chance to have a conversation without having to listen to a sales pitch? Or without having to listen to Leia’s constant prods about her _friendship_ with Cassian? Or without having to hear Cassian’s well-articulated and impressively researched monologues (maybe some would call them rants) about how to make the galaxy a better place?

(Not that she _really_ minds the way his face lights up as he expands on some idea, like the other day, when he’d told her about a small rebellion on some planet she no longer remembers the name of, and he’d leaned down and grinned and said, “Rebellions are built on hope,” and even despite the cheesiness of it, she hadn’t minded at all—)

_Get a grip, Jyn_.

As if the Force could grant wishes, Leia suddenly asks Krennic if he could give her a tour of the facility. In the wake of their leaving, Cassian excuses himself, a little hurriedly, maybe, but Jyn hardly notices.

Papa grins wryly at her. “Couldn’t have told me the daughter of Chancellor Amidala was going to show up?”

Jyn rolls her eyes. “She really didn’t decide until the last minute,” she says, stealing a leftover daro root wedge from her father’s tray.

He sighs and relinquishes his whole tray to her. “It’s just the kind of…”

“What?” she says, attacking the pile of wedges with more seasoning.

“...the kind of opportunity Krennic has been looking for.”

Jyn shrugs and savors the new flavor. “Leia’s not really interested in his projects. I think—” she tilts her head to the side. “I think she was trying to distract him to make him leave you alone.”

“You think that Leia Amidala Skywalker took one for the team?”

“Undoubtedly,” she says. She licks her fingers. “She’s good like that. A good friend.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he says, but he sounds doubtful.

“If you don’t want Krennic buzzing around,” Jyn says, “then just don’t invite him.”

“It’s not that simple. These politicians—”

“Krennic’s not a politician.”

“But he’s—you have to be careful around him, Jyn. He’s got connections in the right places.”

Jyn takes a long sip of her drink and stares at her father over the rim of her cup.

“I do like her, Jyn,” Papa says after a moment. “I’m glad you found a good friend in her.”

“She’s not going to let Krennic sell her on his shite.”

“ _Jyn_ ,” Galen says, like she’s still in grade school, like she hasn’t gotten in trouble for worse. “You don’t know what Krennic can—”

She sighs and slams down her cup a little too loudly. “Just because you’re afraid of him, Papa, doesn’t mean the whole galaxy is.” She stands up and grabs the tray. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“You alright, Jyn?” Leia asks as Jyn exits the cafeteria. Krennic is, thankfully, nowhere in sight. “Where’s your father?”

“I…” Jyn gestures inside, and as she does the full weight of what she’s said hits her. _Kriff_ , she thinks, her hand rising to open the door. She hesitates for just a moment, but when she finally presses the button and the door slides open, she sees their table is empty.

“I’m fine,” she finally answers, glancing around at the hallway just to see who else might be lingering in Leia’s company, besides her father or Krennic. _I’m_ not _looking for him_ , she thinks. _And I’m not avoiding him, either. Just want space. Leia keeps saying we spend too much time together, right?_  “Just going to get some fresh air. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Alright,” Leia says.

Jyn doesn’t look back at her, doesn’t need to witness the knowing look Leia undoubtedly sports.

_Hope_ , she thinks, as she exits the facility and finds a brief respite from the rain. A great time for running. _Hope is just a gateway to disappointment_ , she thinks, and she starts forward at a soft jog.

Some might find the cliffs perilous, especially as they still glisten with moisture, even if the rain has let up. But Jyn sticks to paths she knows well and keeps an eye on the sky and she runs.

The rain starts back up halfway through her circuit, but she doesn’t mind entirely, just slows her pace a little to pick her way more carefully across the rocks.

_At least_ , she thinks _, he’s gotten my mind off Krennic_.

But of course, Cassian is always reliable in that regard—always there to support her.

Although she doesn’t think he’d much appreciate just how distracting she finds him.

No, this is bad. She can’t go the entire long weekend like this, caught between complete ire and frustration towards Krennic and—an entirely different kind of frustration towards Cassian.

Especially because it’s not _just_ that kind of frustration she feels for him.

It’s frustration regarding how this changes everything. How can she just be his friend? How can she sit next to him, _knowing_ that she’s—her foot catches a rock and she goes flying, tumbles forward, scrapes her knee and tears the rain-proof leggings she’d worn.

Just for a moment or two, she allows herself to sit there, glaring at the rock and the rain and the universe in general.

She had to fall for her best friend?

“Jyn!” she hears faintly over the rain.

“Oh, for Force sake,” she mutters out loud. “Couldn’t have been _anyone_ else?”

“Jyn!” Cassian shouts again, and suddenly he’s there, bending over her in the rain, offering a hand. She allows him to help her up.

“Alright?” he says.

“Never better,” she grumbles, wincing as she puts weight on the foot that caught the rock. Her ankle might be slightly sprained.

Cassian looks her over and she realizes what she must look like, hair drenched and plastered to her forehead, bleeding knee, a slight limp, and a scowl harboring all her anger at the galaxy.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No,” she says, starting forward.

“Alright.”

“I just don’t understand why Papa lets Krennic manipulate him—” And like the rains released from the heavens earlier, she lets it all out, everything about Krennic, everything she knows that has happened between her parents and speculation about what she might not know, everything he’s ever done, and why her father can’t just cut him out of his life—out of _their_ lives—completely, why he keeps subjecting himself to this torment, what is it that he’s so afraid of—

“So you got in a fight with your father?” Cassian asks. He sounds sad. Like he’s sorry, like he’d been hoping for better. He had left them alone to talk, after all.

“That’s just what this place does,” Jyn continues, feeling his disappointment and maybe internalizing it too much as her own fault. She might have started that fight, a little bit, and she’d wanted to have a nice talk with her father—she could have maybe tried a little harder. “That’s Eadu. It gets under your skin and makes you angry, makes you miserable, makes you start fights with people you love—next I’ll be picking fights with you—I’m sorry I asked you to come, I knew it was just going to be…”

Cassian has stopped on the path and she turns back to him, glances around in case he’s spotted something, but they’ve basically reached the back entrance to the facility and there’s nothing else around. “Cassian? Did you…”

And _then_ she hears what she said.

She can’t really make out his expression in the rain and the darkness.

_Say something!_ Her brain shouts, and she’s not even sure if she intends the command for herself or for him.

“We should get inside,” he says, stepping around her.

_No, no, no…_ she thinks. _It wasn’t supposed to happen like this_.

_Or ever happen_ , she chastises herself.

She rushes after him, follows him inside to the vestibule, finds him pulling off his wet gloves, his coat already hanging on a hook in front of him.

“Do you want to watch a documentary?” he says, like _nothing has happened_ , like she hasn’t just _ruined their friendship_. “We can pick up some hot tea from—”

“Cassian,” Jyn says, annoyed how breathless it comes out. “Do you want—” She swallows. “Do you want to talk about—”

“We should get you to the medbay first,” he says, glancing down at her bleeding knee. But his face is entirely too neutral, if he’s really concerned.

“We should talk about what I said,” she says.

His shoulders sag and he turns away from her to pick his coat off the hook. He doesn’t turn around as he says, “It’s okay, I know you meant it like—family.”

She should be relieved. She should feel like she dodged a blaster bolt.

Instead she feels like she’s been hit point blank.

“I never wanted to make things awkward between us,” she whispers.

“You haven’t.”

Is it her ears, are they full of water, or did she hear some kind of extra emphasis on ‘ _you_ ’?

But what could _he_ have done, except for being there for her, always?

“I have,” she says, feeling like she’s stumbling over everything even as her feet remain paralyzed, rooted to the duracrete floor. “I have, I keep—I just—I didn’t mean it like family.”

He goes very still.

“You didn’t want to make me uncomfortable,” he says slowly, turning around. She feels simultaneously better and horrified to meet his eyes.

“I know, I’m Bodhi’s sister, and it’s cliche, isn’t it? Like those holonovellas we used to laugh at. And I didn’t want you to think of me as—well—Bodhi’s sister with the…” She can’t quite bring herself to say the full truth, _I didn’t want you to think of me as Bodhi’s sister with the embarrassing crush_.

“Jyn,” he says, dropping his coat and gloves on the ground and stepping towards her. “I have never thought of you just as Bodhi’s sister,” he says, gentle but firm. “Even when I said—back then...” He shakes his head, like he’s shaking away that memory, and hesitantly takes her hand. “I get it. I didn’t want to make _you_ uncomfortable.”

“Oh,” Jyn says, her hand numb within Cassian’s. She should have worn gloves, too. “Since—since when?”

“Since you eviscerated Draven during that group project.” He shrugs sheepishly. “Maybe a little earlier.”

He’s so close she has to crane her neck to look up at him. She can’t think of what to say. Outside, her thoughts had swirled with the rain, and now—now she stands on a precipice overlooking a meadow, calm and blank and peaceful if only she could figure out her way down.

“So, then,” she says, still terrified but in a way that delights her, just a little, “if I wanted to…”

She glances at his mouth, but doesn’t move any closer.

“If you wanted,” he says softly, “I’d be delighted.”

The use of that same word fluttering at the back of her mind thrills her, and she leans forward and up, wraps her arms around his neck, and completes a journey that feels just like coming home.

#

Cassian wakes slowly, lazily, letting the tendrils of his dream haze linger long enough for him to realize—his dream still envelops him.

_Jyn._

She presses against his side, left arm draped heavily across his chest, but he might as well float on air.

Jyn, here, wanting him.

(Force help him. Leia had been right.)

She stirs slightly, shifting and snuggling closer, burrowing her face into his neck.

“Five min…” she mumbles against his skin, tightening her hold. He’s heard no alarm, but he glances at the chrono just for reference. While Jyn can afford to sleep in a while longer, he ought to get moving.

Still, he can’t help but share her sentiment.

She’s stayed with him every night on Eadu, lingered late into each evening to talk—or enjoy other means of expression—until the sound of the rain battering the roof lulled them to sleep, tucked against each other. And while he doesn’t find Eadu half as miserable as he knows she does, he marvels at just how much it helps, how much easier it is to bear the wretchedness of the planet, with her at his side.

Three nights, and already he’s grown greedy from the comfort of her presence. It doesn’t feel like _enough_ , doesn’t make up for all that lost time spent hesitating.

And technically, she _is_ an exchange student. They’ve only just started whatever this is—what will happen when she goes back?

_She still might stay_ , whispers a careful voice of hope.

He traces his finger down the length of her arm, skimming along her skin with just the faintest touch from her elbow to her wrist, then takes her hand in his and kisses her fingers.

“I have to get up,” he murmurs, so regretfully. He hates to disturb her, hates to leave her even more, but she’ll thank him for it later, he knows.

“ _Why_ ,” she says, clinging tighter, eyes still closed.

“Classified,” he says.

She leans back enough to regard him with one eye, the other pressed against the pillow.

“Sworn to secrecy.”

Her glare is no less menacing despite being half-obscured. “You and Leia are conspiring against me,” she grumbles. “Again.”

“Hey,” he says, turning his head on the pillow to look her in the eye. “We’re on the same team now. If anything, _we’re_ conspiring against _her_ …”

She gives him a tired smirk, and from the glint in her eye, he assumes she's teasing him again.

When Leia had inevitably noticed Jyn’s empty bed, she’d cornered him—somewhat aggressively—wanting to know whether she ought to give Han a call. He’d tried to deflect—“Why? Can’t wait to hear his voice?”—but Jyn had overheard, and he didn’t really want to start out whatever they were doing with any kind of deception. Her expression had gone rather blank when he’d explained later, she’d sighed, and said, “I suppose you’ve given me no choice, then.”

It had taken him the entire rest of the day to figure out what that meant; she’d let him sweat it out until finally, at dinner, she’d casually slipped into conversation how Cassian had asked her out, full of fictionalized details that she’d no doubt been composing all day. Leia had cocked a suspicious eyebrow his way, but had yet to say anything.

Afterwards, when Leia had gone, Jyn had fixed him with a rueful grin. “With that much riding on it, you still couldn’t have managed to ask me out?”

To which he had stuttered, “Leia’s love life doesn’t— _Jyn_ , I couldn’t have risked our relationship for anything…”

He’d turned the tables on her then, not intentionally, but it’d worked nonetheless.

And like then, she smiles at him, interlaces her fingers with his. “That’s right,” she says, nodding. “Same team.” Then she leans over and kisses him, a novelty that still thrills him, that he thinks will thrill him for however long they have together.

Which reminds him—“I do have to get going, though.”

As he slides out of bed, he hears Jyn huff. “You think just ‘cause I’ll be around another semester, you can come and go as you please?” Before he can react properly to this revelation, she continues, “No, it’s fine—so long as Papa makes his ghibli crepes. Breakfast better be delicious.”

“You—” Cassian slowly settles back down on the bed. “What?”

Jyn smirks up at him from his pillow. “You and Papa aren’t _so_ sneaky,” she says.

His brow furrows; mostly he’s trying to process the other news she told him. “You’re staying,” he says, “another semester?”

“Oh. Um, yes. Didn’t I tell you?” Her face flickers through several different expressions too quickly for him to interpret. She sits up, tucks her feet underneath her, expanding the gap between them. “I, um, filed the paperwork right before we left.”

_Why is she so nervous?_ he wonders, just briefly. Since that first kiss, a new kind of hesitation and shyness has settled between them. Before, the stress of uncertainty had barricaded communication, stifled the ability to express themselves freely around each other. Now, as fraught tension eases into something lighter but still fragile, they scope out the contours of the new form their relationship has taken with gentle, measured steps.

_She’s worried I’m not serious_ , he thinks. _She’s worried I consider this just a fling._

The realization hurts, mostly at the idea of her own insecurity.

So he reaches out across the infinite expanse of his bed and takes her hand, offering the kind of wide, genuine smile he’s unused to sharing with the rest of the world. “Good.”

To his delight, she mirrors his joy. “Good.”

He pulls her closer, into his lap, to better express his contentment at this news, but her stomach lets out a loud growl.

Half sighing, half laughing, he pulls away, rests his forehead against hers. “I _do_ have to get going.”

Five minutes later, he’s trying to tame down his hair as he rushes through the halls of the facility. Her father’s plan to surprise her with breakfast had seemed much easier before they’d decided to share the same bed, and not just because slipping away without raising her suspicions had proven impossible.

No, he’s about to spend the next hour bumping elbows with Galen, wondering if her father can just _tell_ that they’d been laying together just minutes ago, like there’s some kind of parental insight that just _knows_. Will he care? Will he mind?

They haven’t done much more than make out—it’s not so much waiting as savoring the discovery of each other, and besides, he doesn’t really think that Jyn wants to associate Eadu with anything more special than what’s already occured. (And it’s really only been three days, even if they have known each other for years!)

So despite how nice of a morning he’s had so far, as Cassian knocks on the door to Galen’s quarters, his stomach turns. The fact that he’s known Galen so long probably just makes it worse.

He’s so fixated on these ridiculous nerves that he’s entirely unprepared for the face that greets him.

“Cassian! There you are,” Krennic says, his attempt at a cheerful welcome too practiced to feel anything but empty.

Caught off guard, Cassian blurts, “Um—hi, Director Krennic. What—what brings you here?”

“Galen’s already started in the kitchen,” Krennic says, as if this is an answer. He steps back to allow Cassian to enter and leads him through Galen’s apartment. Krennic rambles on about something, but Cassian’s too busy trying to catch up, putting pieces together.

He should have noticed: Krennic _had_ disappeared from all their meals, all their private time together. He’d shown up in Galen’s presentations, but Cassian had only gone to the handful that might prove pertinent to his parents’ partnership with Galen’s projects and had been focused more on engaging with Galen’s explanations, participating when appropriate, and asking questions to further his understanding. Cassian had practically forgotten the man who so frequently plagued the Erso’s business affairs had even existed.

But that didn’t _quite_ explain his sudden presence here—certainly Krennic had no interest in cooking, let alone sharing a birthday brunch with Jyn.

“Hi, Cassian,” Galen greets, standing by the counter, already stirring something. (If so many other things weren’t happening, Cassian might be a little perturbed he’d started without him. He wasn’t _that_ late…) “I hope you don’t mind. I invited Krennic to join us as we cook.”

“Sure…” Cassian says, rolling up his sleeves and going to the sink to wash his hands. He notices two Duneeden caf mugs, full of steaming water, sitting on the counter. “It’s just a little unexpected.”

“A surprise for the surprisers,” Krennic says, chuckling to himself. Cassian balls up the hand towel in his fist. “Don’t worry,” Krennic continues, checking the caf pot, “I won’t be compromising your meal with my poor culinary skills.”

“Will you be staying for breakfast, then?” Cassian asks, releasing his clenched fist and gently hanging the towel back on its hook.

“No, no,” Krennic says, waving a hand dismissively. With the other he empties one of the Duneeden mugs into the sink. Cassian lets out a breath in relief. “I wouldn’t intrude on a man’s quality time with his daughter.”

It’s really a testament to Cassian’s willpower that he keeps his face straight while talking to this man, especially with no warning, no time to prepare himself mentally.

“No, I just wanted to catch up with Galen before I left for Fest,” Krennic says, plopping two scoops of brown sugar into his mug. At the mention of his home planet, Cassian braces himself, but Krennic pursues a slightly different tack. “We so rarely see each other outside of work, you see. It’s always been that way with this one, I’m afraid.” Krennic smirks and pours a shot of whiskey over the pile of brown sugar. “Work, work, work, all the time. For as long as I’ve known him. Ah, how long _has_ it been Galen?”

_Too long_ , Cassian thinks.

“Over thirty years,” Galen murmurs, setting the crepe batter into the fridge. He pulls out a creamer vessel and small spoon and leaves them next to Krennic on the counter.

_Way too long_.

“Thirty-six years, wasn’t it?” Krennic says, at last reaching for the caf pot and filling the rest of his mug most of the way. “We met at the Brentaal Futures Program. Galen wasn’t much younger than Jyn is now. Of course I was fifteen. Quite precocious, you see.”

_Pretentious,_ Cassian thinks, cracking an egg too aggressively and dropping bits of shell into the yoke. He’s so glad Jyn has been spared this interaction.

“I even helped Galen find his first job,” Krennic says, beaming. He picks up the cold spoon and slowly pours the cream over the back of it, watching the cream float on top of the caf. “The job that launched his illustrious career. And now a possible deal with the Skywalkers! Imagine, the Erso crystal arrays installed all across the galaxy. And it all started with that visiting professorship at the Institute of Applied Science. Patience,” Krennic adds, tapping the spoon on the rim of the glass, “pays well.”

“You’ve certainly played an influential role in my career,” Galen admits. Cassian cannot fathom why Galen would fan the flame of this man’s narcissism.

“And what about you, Cassian?” Krennic says, plunking a vanilla pod into his beverage. “Would you like one?”

“I’m—sorry, what—”

Krennic gestures towards the second mug. “Caf for you?”

“Oh.” Cassian nearly lets out a second sigh of relief. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Krennic takes a sip of his caf, savoring the flavors. “It’s well worth the wait. And the effort.”

“I’m sure.”

“So,” Krennic says, leaning back against the counter. “Do you have anything lined up yet? You graduate soon, don’t you?”

“Professor Draven has helped me set up a few interviews,” Cassian says quickly.

Krennic frowns. “I’m sure his network is quite extensive—” His tone suggests otherwise. “—if you’re looking for a job in the Galactic Corps.” He smirks before taking a long sip of his drink, then looks at Cassian thoughtfully. “But if you decide you’re looking for something with real influence, something like the Outer Rim Power Initiative…” Cassian takes note of the glint in his eyes, like a tooka cat preparing to pounce.

Oh, kriff.

He _really_ should have seen this coming.

From behind Krennic’s shoulder, Galen offers an apologetic look as Krennic launches into his sales pitch: the deal he’s made with Cassian’s father regarding the Festian energy project and their shared hope that Cassian will accept the opportunity they’ve carved out for him within it, a co-op for next semester.

But he doesn’t get the full explanation about _how_ this all happened until half an hour later, after Krennic has finished his pitch and left, and Galen has commed Jyn to invite her and Leia over.

“I’m sorry,” Galen says. “He insisted.”

Cassian considers this against Krennic’s absence in the last few days. “You made a deal?”

“I tried to—he wouldn’t…” Galen sighs. “It’s probably no secret that my family’s relationship with Krennic isn’t great. I’m sure Jyn has told you.”

Nodding, Cassian opens the oven to retrieve the rolls.

“I just asked that he give us space,” Galen says, “in exchange for the opportunity to recruit you.”

“I see.” He sets the tray on the counter.

“You don’t have to take it,” Galen says quickly. “I’m not—endorsing him, by any means. It’s true that Krennic helped start my career, and he’s right, the job would pay well, would open up more opportunities for your future, but…” Galen sighs, moving to the sink to wash his hands. He wipes them off on the towel before continuing. “He’s difficult to work with, to say the least. And you’ll never really…”

“Get rid of him?”

Galen shrugs and drapes the towel over his shoulder. Then he deflates and nods. “Yeah. That’s what Jyn would say. And Lyra.” He shakes his head. “They’d both tell you not to take it. And they’d be right. They’re both smart women. Smarter than me, for sure.” Galen pauses, looks at him closely. “Are you considering taking it?”

“I…” He can’t possibly consider it, he can already see the hurt on Jyn’s face as he imagines breaking the news to her. “I don’t want to,” he admits. “But the fact that it’s on Fest, that my parents are involved—it complicates things.”

Galen turns away to move the hot rolls into a basket. “I hear you and Jyn have been spending quite some time together,” he says, a jarring change of subject, Cassian thinks.

“I guess,” Cassian says.

“She’s always been fond of you,” Galen continues. “You know she hated ghibli before Bodhi met you?”

“That’s… interesting,” Cassian says, still feeling on guard even though Krennic has left.

He follows Galen into the dining room, watches him set down the basket, the finishing touch to the vast spread they’ve laid out for Jyn’s surprise brunch.

Galen meets his eyes just as the front door of the apartment whooses open. “Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Before Cassian can respond, Jyn calls, “Papa?”

“In here!” he calls out.

Jyn enters the dining room and gasps in feigned surprise. “What’s all this?”

“Since I won’t get to see you on your actual birthday,” Galen says, coming round the table to hug her. “I wanted to treat you to an early celebration. Happy birthday, Stardust!”

For a moment, Jyn’s bottom lip wobbles; she really is touched, even if she knew it was coming. She leans up and kisses her father on the cheek, thanking him, before turning to examine the selection.

“Ghibli _crepes_? Papa, you shouldn’t have.”

“Cassian insisted.”

“Did he now?” She looks over at him, grinning, a little smug but mostly just happy, like she’s excited about everything, the breakfast, the crepes, and maybe, if he allows himself to indulge in hope, this newfound happenstance of _us_ that pulses between their shared smiles.

He can see it, beautiful and shining in her eyes, just how much trust she’s placed in him. In _them_.

He couldn’t possibly say yes to Krennic’s offer. No one who truly knew the man could agree to work with him, given an actual choice in the matter—and he felt certain his father _hadn’t_ been given much of a choice, knowing the limitations of politicking, Krennic’s likely manipulations, and Galen’s own experiences.

Besides, it’s not like his father couldn’t do this kind of work without him. They’d find someone else to fill the role, someone who’d likely be more qualified, anyways.

And Cassian could focus on his own aspirations—career and otherwise.

That’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?

But then why does he have such a bad feeling about it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Gorse](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Gorse) and it's moon, Cynda, were mined for thorilide and appeared in _A New Dawn_ , a novel set six years before _Rebels_.
> 
> [Duneeden](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Duneeden) is an snowy planet in the Core used mainly for private retreats. I imagine shivering visitors enjoyed a warm welcome of whiskey-infused caf, not unlike some real world Irish Coffee. 
> 
> Special thanks to Alli for both of these suggestions!


End file.
